ONE'S 
WMETslKpIND 


8,  P,  McLeAN,  •OQKI»*U«, 

H«  M.  BROADWAY, 


••• 


One's  Womankind 


By  the  Same  Author 

A  DRAMA  IN  DUTCH 
THE  WORLD  AND  A  MAN 
THE  BEAUTIFUL  Miss  BROOKE 
A  NINETEENTH  CENTURY  MIRACLE 
CLEO  THE  MAGNIFICENT 
THE  SYREN  FROM  BATH 


ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

A  NOVEL 


BY 

Louis   ZANGWILL 

Author  of 
A  DRAMA  IN  DUTCH,"    "THE  WORLD  AND  A  MAN,"   ETC. 


NEW  YORK 

A.  S.  BARNES  fcf  COMPANY 
1902 


COPYRIGHT  1902  BY 
A.  S.  BARNES  &  COMPANY 


Published  November  1902 


CONTENTS 

BOOK  PAGE 

I.  The  Bachelor  .....  i 

II.  The  Guardian  .         ,         .         .         .  91 

III.  The  Wooer 155 

IV.  The  Benedict 193 

V.  The  Husband  .         .         .         .         .235 


2139039 


Book  I 
The  Bachelor 


r  HOUGH  they  had  already  loitered  on  their 
way  home  from  school,  the  two  sisters  could 
not  help  pausing  once  more  to  gaze  at  the 
sweet-stuffs  ranged  in  great  heaps  behind 
the  shining  plate  glass  window. 

"  Have  you  ever  tasted  those  pink-and-white  things  ?  " 
asked  the  six-year-old  May,  as  her  arm  went  round 
Gwenny  and  her  big  grey  eyes  shone  with  longing. 

"  No,"  replied  the  elder  sister,  sorrowfully  mindful 
of  the  sweeping  maternal  ban  on  sweet-stuffs,  though  it 
was  only  almond-rock  which  was  supposed  to  have  last 
upset  them ;  "  but  the  yellow-and-white  are  nicer." 

"  You  silly  old  Gwenny !  How  can  you  know — if 
you've  never  tasted  them?  "  A  laughing  sparkle  illu- 
mined the  dimpled  little  face. 

"  The  yellow-and-white  are  lemony,"  protested 
Gwenny  indignantly ;  "  and  you  always  like  lemon  flavour 
best,  you  know  you  do." 

"  One  can't  go  on  liking  the  same  thing  the  whole 
time,"  retorted  May. 

"  You  can  if  it's  nice." 

"  You  can,  Gwenny.    Never  knew  such  a  slow-coach." 

Such  criticism  from  a  junior  by  a  full  twelve-month 
savoured  of  presumption.  Gwenny  was  annoyed. 

"  All  the  same  I  can  walk  quicker  than  you,"  she 
said.  "  See !  "  And  she  began  to  move  away  briskly. 

Gwenny  was  not  much  taller  than  her  sister,  having 
little  to  show  for  her  extra  twelve-month.  Indeed,  as 
both  wore  neat  green  frocks  and  white  pinafores,  there 
seemed  at  first  sight  little  outward  difference  between 
them.  Their  features,  however,  offered  a  certain  con- 


2  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

trast.  Gwenny  was  habitually  grave  and  thoughtful, 
yet  her  face  was  very  sweet  with  its  soft,  perfect  con- 
tours. Her  hair  was  several  degrees  darker  than  May's, 
and  her  eyes  were  brown:  not  a  common  every-day 
brown,  but  a  subtle  beautiful  brown  that  flashed  into 
amber. 

May,  on  the  other  hand,  gave  no  hint  of  a  meditative 
temperament.  Her  face  was  usually  alight  with  fun, 
and,  if  for  a  moment  she  fell  into  thought,  absurd 
wrinkles  showed  themselves  on  the  tiny  brow.  She 
loved  her  sister,  but  she — the  younger — prided  herself 
on  being  the  more  wide-awake  of  the  two.  But  the 
quieter  Gwenny  did  not  always  submit  to  her  patronage. 
To-day,  indeed,  she  was  stung  into  reading  May  a 
pretty  lecture  as  they  went  along. 

"  I'm  sure  you  don't  know  what  you  like.  You're 
always  wishing  for  new  things  and  wanting  to  be  rich 
and  have  servants  to  wait  upon  you.  You  know  we're 
poor,  and  how  can  we  ever  get  rich  without  a  father?  " 

"  Of  course  I  shall  be  rich  one  day,"  said  the  younger 
sister  confidently.  "  It's  horrid  to  be  always  poor."  A 
deep  red  spot  burnt  on  either  cheek. 

"  Don't  be  silly,  May,"  said  Gwenny.  "  You  know 
mother  has  only  what  uncle  gives  her  ...  I  did  so 
love  father,"  she  added  after  a  slight  pause,  her  eyes 
shining  tearfully.  "  I  can't  believe  he's  really  dead — 
it  is  so  puzzling." 

"  You  can't  see  any  more,  and  you  can't  taste  any 
more,  and  you  can't  talk  any  more,  and  then  they  bury 
you,"  said  May,  her  face  grown  suddenly  white.  "  And 
teacher  says  we  must  all  die  one  day.  Isn't  it  horrible  ?  " 

"  But  it's  only  father's  body  that  died ;  his  soul  is 
still  alive,"  put  in  Gwenny  meditatively. 

They  walked  on  in  silence.  "  I  know ! "  cried  May 
presently,  with  an  air  of  announcing  an  inspiration. 
"  Of  course  it's  father's  soul  that's  going  to  make  us 
rich." 


THE  BACHELOR  3 

"  Nonsense !  There's  no  such  thing  as  money  in 
heaven !  "  pronounced  Gwenny  dogmatically. 

"  A  soul  can  do  anything,"  insisted  May.  "  It  can 
turn  anything  it  likes  into  gold.  Why,  if  a  magician 
only  touches  the  commonest  substance  with  his  wand,  it 
changes  into  gold  at  once,  and  a  magician  isn't  as  high 
as  a  soul.  But  I  forgot.  I  can  show  you  what  heaven 
looks  like.  There  are  such  beautiful  colours." 

She  fumbled  in  her  pinafore  pocket  and  brought  out 
a  long  glass  prism.  Gwenny  stared  at  it  suspiciously. 
Then,  in  a  burst  of  recognition,  "  Where  did  you  get 
that  from  ?  "  she  cried,  horrified. 

"  I  took  it  off  one  of  the  lustres,"  explained  May 
calmly.  "  I  turned  that  side  towards  the  wall,  so  that 
mother  won't  miss  it  before  I  fix  it  on  again.  What  a 
lovely  spy-glass  it  makes!  Just  have  a  spy  through 
it!" 

"  No,  I  will  not,"  said  Gwenny.  "  You  had  no  right 
to  touch  it.  Put  it  away !  " 

But  May  ignored  the  injunction,  screwing  up  one 
eye  and  holding  the  prism  to  the  other.  "  A-a-a-h-h !  " 
she  exclaimed  rapturously. 

Presently  she  held  the  prism  to  her  sister's  eye,  and 
Gwenny  was  hypnotized  into  acceptance  of  the  younger 
one's  audacity. 

"  A-a-a-h-h%! "  she  exclaimed  in  her  turn,  taking  hold 
of  it  firmly.  "  Blue,  green,  yellow,  red — and  the  whole 
street  goes  up  like  a  hill  .  .  .  But  suppose  you  should 
break  it." 

"  Don't  look  so  frightened,  Gwenny." 

"  I'm  not  frightened,  but  it  isn't  right ;  and  if  it 
should  get  smashed  in  two " 

"  Why,  then  there'd  be  a  spy-glass  for  each  of  us 
— and  a  beating  besides!  Who  cares  for  a  beating? 
Some  girls  are  such  cry-babies.  You're  not,  Gwenny. 
But  then  you're  so  good,  you  never  get  beaten." 

"  A-a-a-h-h ! "  said   Gwenny  again,   as   they  turned 


4  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

the  corner  of  their  own  street.  "  How  strange  the 
people  look ! " 

May  held  out  her  hand  for  the  prism,  and  Gwenny 
passed  it  to  her;  but,  before  May's  fingers  had  grasped 
it,  Gwenny's  had  released  their  hold.  As  for  the  prism, 
it  was  dashed  into  five  jagged  pieces,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  myriad  irrecoverable  fragments. 

Gwenny  looked  rather  solemn  and  was  not  in  the 
least  reassured  by  the  laughter  with  which  May  presently 
greeted  the  catastrophe.  Nor,  indeed,  was  she  at  all 
deceived,  for  May's  cheeks  were  aflame  and  the  ring  in 
her  laughter  was  of  bravado. 

"  How  can  you?  "  she  exclaimed,  stooping  to  pick  up 
the  pieces. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  care ! "  retorted  May,  refusing  to  abate 
one  jot  of  her  apparent  unconcern.  "  Put  them  in  my 
pinafore  pocket  .  .  .  here ! "  And,  Gwenny  having 
obeyed  her  bidding,  she  began  to  dance  gaily  onwards. 
The  elder  sister  followed  conscience-stricken,  and  with 
blanched  face. 

The  neighbourhood — the  humbler  side  of  a  prosper- 
ous district  of  Northern  London — was  monotonous  but 
strictly  respectable;  a  harmless  background  enough  for 
the  growth  of  the  two  children.  Besides,  there  was  a 
park  within  easy  reach,  agreeably  varying  for  them  the 
topography  of  the  quarter.  Not  that  they  were  without 
knowledge  of  a  larger  world,  still  more  richly  varied. 
For,  on  occasion,  they  had  been  taken  to  have  tea  with 
their  uncle,  Mr.  Hubert  Ruthven,  at  his  chambers  in  the 
Temple,  and  the  omnibus  ride  down  to  the  Strand  was 
an  experience  to  be  remembered. 

And  when  you  arrived !  What  strange  places  had 
to  be  traversed!  You  went  down  a  funny  passage,  and 
past  a  lovely  romantic  church,  and  then  under  such  an 
odd  assemblage  of  arches  and  pillars  to  get  into  the 
"  playground  " — so  they  designated  the  oblong,  paved 
space  of  the  venerable  Pump  Court — where  uncle  lived. 


THE  BACHELOR  5 

Fancy  trees  growing  down  the  middle  out  of  the  flag- 
stones, and  a  pump  right  in  the  centre !  Then  you  went 
up  a  few  steps  to  a  very  dirty  old  doorway,  with  gen- 
tlemen's names  painted  down  the  sides,  and  passed 
through  a  dusty  passage  and  up  three  dark  flights  of 
bare  stairs  on  to  a  landing  where  there  was  a  gas-light 
just  like  a  street-lamp,  only  without  the  post.  They 
did  not  at  all  approve  of  these  last  stages  of  the  journey ; 
they  religiously  believed  the  dust  and  grime  were  a 
"  disgrace  " — that  being  one  of  their  mother's  oft-ex- 
pressed and  most  ardent  convictions.  It  had  always 
thrilled  them  with  indignation  to  hear  that  Mr.  Ruthven 
paid  seven  whole  shillings  a  week  extra  to  have  his  place 
kept  clean!  They  were,  indeed,  much  concerned  that 
his  health  was  going  to  break  down  one  day  (though 
he  never  seemed  to  have  the  least  idea  of  it  himself)  ; 
but  he  was  always  so  kind  and  friendly  that  they  didn't 
like  to  tell  him  about  it. 

Criticism,  however,  always  ceased  when  his  thick  oak 
door  swung  open  on  its  queer,  elongated  hinges,  that 
were  nailed  right  across  it ;  and,  as  they  passed  in,  they 
would  cast  a  shy  glance  up  at  the  three  grotesque  carved 
heads  surmounting  the  archway  that  gave  variety  to 
the  narrow  corridor.  Inside  they  would  sit  quiet  as 
mice,  not  in  awe  of  their  uncle,  but  overwhelmed  by  the 
sense  of  "  visiting  "  this  important  place. 

Their  mother,  Mrs.  Edward  Ruthven,  rented  the 
upper  part  of  a  small  house,  sharing  the  kitchen  below 
with  the  genteel  person  whose  sub-tenant  she  was — that 
being  the  usual  arrangement  in  the  immediate  district. 
She  was  proud  of  her  little  nest;  she,  at  least,  had  no 
intention  of  putting  up  with  dust  and  stuffiness,  "  as 
grand  gentlemen  apparently  could."  To-day  the  chil- 
dren found  the  front  door  on  the  jar,  pushed  it  open, 
and  went  up-stairs  together,  May  anxious  to  meet  the 
coming  storm  and  have  it  over,  Gwenny  with  a  sense 
of  accessoryship  to  the  crime.  They  meant,  of  course, 


6  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

to  confess  their  guilt  at  once,  even  should  their  mother's 
keen  eye  not  yet  have  detected  the  damage.  Mrs. 
Ruthven's  regard  for  her  household  effects  was  religious. 
Deterioration  that  was  fair  wear  and  tear  was  a  horror 
to  her;  wanton  destruction  unthinkable.  Not  of  her 
might  it  be  said,  in  the  words  of  Pope,  she  was  mistress 
of  herself  though  china  fell.  On  the  lustres  in  par- 
ticular she  set  a  high  value ;  they  represented  the  aesthe- 
tic element  in  the  home,  and  she  would  often  pause 
before  them  to  admire  their  richly-gilded  crowns  and 
their  long,  beautiful  pendants.  Gwenny  and  May  had 
therefore  no  illusions  about  what  was  to  follow. 

They  entered  the  sitting-room  quietly.  Mrs.  Ruth- 
ven  was  not  yet  there,  though  a  glance  showed  that 
the  misdeed  had  already  been  discovered.  The  lustre 
in  question  had  been  turned  again,  and  a  yawning 
emptiness,  as  of  a  great  tooth  extracted,  showed  as  the 
place  of  the  missing  pendant. 

May  took  the  broken  pieces  from  her  pocket  and 
threw  them  on  to  the  table.  Gwenny's  arm  stole  round 
her  protectingly,  the  elder  sister  in  her  asserting 
itself. 

"  Never  mind,  dear,"  she  said,  trying  to  suppress  a 
sob,  the  outcome,  not  of  fear,  but  of  the  general  emo- 
tion of  the  moment.  "  It  will  be  all  the  same  to-mor- 
row." 

In  a  moment  they  recognized  their  mother's  step  as 
she  ascended  from  the  kitchen.  Presently  she  stood  in 
the  doorway,  a  pot  of  scalded  tea  in  one  hand,  a  jug 
of  hot  water  in  the  other.  She  was  a  tall,  half-faded 
woman  of  thirty,  though  she  looked  fully  five  years 
older.  Brooding  discontent  with  her  lot  had  set  its 
mark  on  her,  so  that  the  faults  of  her  face  had  come 
to  be  over-accentuated.  The  forehead  was  too  broad, 
the  chin  too  narrow,  the  cheek-bones  a  trifle  pronounced. 
Yet,  in  the  first  freshness  of  youth,  with  her  fine  grey 
eyes  and  a  really  good  neck — which  still  rose  gracefully 


THE  BACHELOR  7 

from  her  dark  stuff  dress — she  had  been  attractive 
enough. 

She  set  down  the  jug  and  teapot  on  the  table.  Her 
hands  were  large  and  coarsened  by  household  work,  the 
golden  symbols  of  her  progress  from  maidenhood  to- 
wards motherhood  shining  in  marked  contrast  to  the 
red  flesh.  There  was  an  ominous  deliberateness  about 
her  movements. 

As  the  girls  had  lingered  on  their  way  home,  her 
accumulated  anger  had  been  feeling  itself  foiled.  Which 
made  her  even  angrier. 

"  Oho ! "  she  cried,  as  her  eye,  catching  sight  of  the 
shapeless  fragments,  spat  fire  at  both  of  them. 

"  I'm  so  sorry,  mother,"  said  Gwenny.  "  It's  all  my 
fault.  I  did  not  mean  to  break  it.  It  was  an  accident." 

"  I'll  give  you  an  accident !  "  screamed  Mrs.  Ruthven, 
smacking  her  face  hard.  "  You  little  imp  of  mischief." 

Gwenny  trembled  a  little  and  her  eyes  grew  sorrow- 
fully big,  but  no  tear  showed  itself. 

"  It  wasn't  Gwenny's  fault  at  all,"  spoke  up  May.  "  I 
took  the  spy-glass — because  it  made  such  lovely  colours 
on  the  wall  when  the  sun  shone." 

"  Oh — it  was  you,  was  it?  "  Mrs.  Ruthven  took  a 
menacing  step  forward.  "  You  were  always  the  mis- 
chievous one.  There  is  just  a  taste  for  you  to  go  on 
with,  and,  at  bed-time,  won't  you  just  catch  it,  my 
lady — you'll  see." 

May  received  the  blow  meekly,  conscious  of  deserving 
the  finger-marks  on  her  cheek,  though  not  at  all  relish- 
ing the  accompanying  assurance  of  further  punishment 
to  follow. 

But  Mrs.  Ruthven's  temper  having  found  relief  in 
castigation,  her  resentment  began  to  flow  into  words,  the 
while  she  proceeded  to  cut  their  bread-and-butter.  The 
children  listened  silently,  feeling  themselves  monsters, 
as  their  mother  descanted  on  their  constant  roughness 
towards  the  home  in  contrast  with  the  loving  care  she 


8  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

always  bestowed  on  it.  The  way  they  would  keep 
putting  their  feet  on  the  bars  of  chairs,  and  scratching 
and  scraping  them,  was  enough  to  make  one's  heart 
bleed.  Not  infrequently,  she  asserted,  she  had  caught 
them  standing  on  chairs,  and  she  had  a  mournful  pre- 
vision of  hollow  places  worn  in  the  wood.  She  recalled 
to  them  definite  instances  of  their  guilt  (as  if  adequate 
reproach  had  not  been  meted  out  as  the  occasions  had 
arisen).  And  now  not  even  the  lustres  were  safe  from 
their  mischievous  hands.  Other  mothers  had  pleasure 
from  their  children,  she  had  only  heart-burn.  And  how 
she  was  going  to  match  the  broken  pendant,  Heaven 
alone  knew. 

"  There  is  something  in  my  money-box,"  suggested 
Gwenny.  "  And  if  it  isn't  enough,  you  could  keep  back 
my  spending-money  for  some  time." 

"  I'll  think  about  it,"  said  Mrs.  Ruthven,  in  whom  the 
still  visible  marks  on  the  children's  faces  now  created 
some  remorse.  "  It  would  serve  you  right  if  I  did," 
she  added,  to  maintain  a  show  of  severity. 

A  silence  fell  upon  the  room.  May  sipped  her  tea 
with  guilty  remembrance  of  a  neglected  money-box 
somewhere  on  a  top  shelf.  Heroic  resolutions  to  begin 
saving  from  that  moment  were  surging  in  her  mind 
despite  the  breakdown  of  past  attempts — though,  to  be 
sure,  a  farthing  a  day  had  scarcely  afforded  much 
margin  for  economies. 

However,  the  storm  had  now  blown  over,  and,  before 
very  many  minutes  had  passed,  the  mercurial  May  had 
completely  recovered  her  spirits,  and  did  not  even  take 
seriously  the  flogging  that  had  been  threatened  for 
bed-time.  But  Gwenny  still  sat  with  downcast  face, 
brooding  over  the  sins  of  the  past,  and  casting  every 
now  and  again  a  remorseful  glance  at  the  imperfect 
lustre. 


n 

TEA  was  well-nigh  over  when  the  little  family 
was  surprised  by  a  visitor.     But,  if  his  com- 
ing that  afternoon  was  unexpected,  his  rap 
at  the   door  was   familiar   enough,   and   the 
children  immediately  jumped  up  with  a  joyous  shout 
of  "Uncle!" 

Mr.  Hubert  Ruthven  entered,  put  his  stick  in  a 
corner,  and  his  tall  silk  hat  on  a  chair.  He  shook  hands 
with  his  sister-in-law,  and  kissed  and  fondled  the  chil- 
dren. From  the  way  in  which  they  threw  off  all  re- 
pression, and  danced  and  laughed  with  delight,  it  was 
evident  how  much  he  stood  for  in  their  lives.  A  frown 
stole  over  their  mother's  face. 

"  Don't  make  such  a  noise,  children.  You  will  give 
Mr.  Ruthven  a  headache."  At  the  same  time  she  was 
nervous  lest  he  should  notice  anything  amiss  with  their 
faces. 

"  The  noisier  the  better,  Agnes,"  said  Hubert,  laugh- 
ing, and  drawing  the  two  little  ones  closer  to  him.  He 
caressed  their  hair,  and  patted  their  cheeks. 

"  A  cup  of  tea,"  suggested  Agnes. 

"  Thanks.  I  am  really  thirsty.  It's  a  tedious  journey 
from  the  Temple." 

He  drew  over  a  chair,  and  sat  down  near  the  table. 
But  he  did  not  see  the  frown  that  again  passed  over  the 
mother's  face  as  Gwenny  and  May  came  and  stood  one 
on  each  side  of  him.  At  last,  Agnes,  impatient  to  hear 
the  wherefore  of  his  appearance,  bade  the  children  go 
into  the  next  room.  "  I  dare  say  your  uncle  has  some- 
thing to  talk  over  with  me,"  she  added :  "  and  you, 
Gwenny,  have  your  lessons  to  do." 

9 


10  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

Hubert  did  not  oppose  the  dismissal,  so  the  girls  rose 
to  obey ;  May,  who  had  not  yet  attained  to  the  stage  of 
home-lessons,  taking  a  volume  of  Grimm's  Fairy  Tales 
with  her.  Nevertheless,  they  were  loath  to  go,  for  a 
conference  between  the  elders  had  always  a  fascination 
for  them,  and  they  were  usually  allowed  to  be  present 
the  whole  time  during  Hubert's  visits. 

Indeed,  not  only  were  they,  as  a  rule,  admitted  to  con- 
ferences relating  to  the  family  affairs ;  but  their  mother, 
in  her  bitterer  moods,  would  pour  out  to  them  her  own 
distorted  vision  of  things — the  hardness  of  their  lot  in 
the  world,  the  harsh  injustice  of  their  father's  mother, 
who  had  never  recognized  her,  and  had  always  refused 
to  see  her,  saying  she  had  entrapped  her  son  and  ruined 
his  life;  whereas  she  called  Heaven  to  witness  she  had 
never  encouraged  him,  and  was  only  coerced  into  marry- 
ing him  by  his  threatening  to  shoot  himself  if  she  re- 
fused. She  would  always  curse  the  day  when  the  young 
gentleman  came  to  lodge  in  her  poor  mother's  house. 
Such  a  confidential  disquisition  on  her  part  was  the  usual 
immediate  sequel  to  Hubert's  visits,  which  were  thus 
also  associated  in  the  children's  minds  with  after-periods 
of  maternal  gloom. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  wondering  why  I've  come  to- 
day," he  began — for,  in  the  ordinary  course  of  events, 
his  regular  visit  and  cheque  would  not  be  due  for  another 
fortnight  or  so. 

"  You  wouldn't  have  come  unless  you  had  a  reason," 
she  returned,  unwilling  to  be  charmed  into  graciousness 
by  the  fascination  of  his  presence — his  dark,  handsome 
face  with  its  deep-set  black  eyes,  his  gentle  manner, 
his  soft  polished  voice,  his  stylish  clothes.  She 
felt  all  this  as  marking  the  superiority  of  his  clan 
to  hers. 

"  I  admit  I  have  a  reason,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  But 
come,  you  surely  don't  mean  to  complain  of  neglect  on 
my  part." 


THE  BACHELOR  11 

"  Complain !  "  she  said  scornfully.  "  I  never  com- 
plain." 

"  Of  course  you  were  not  complaining,"  he  conceded 
good-naturedly,  trying  to  soothe  her  out  of  her  obvious 
hostility.  "  I  am  so  sorry,  Agnes.  Life  hasn't  exactly 
been  a  bed  of  roses  for  you." 

"  No,  that  it  hasn't,"  she  agreed. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  he  repeated,  sincerely  full  of  pity 
for  her.  He  was  too  large-hearted  to  be  vexed  at  her 
general  air  of  hostility,  understanding  her  limitations, 
and  tolerating  her  troublesome  pride  at  being  dependent 
on  him.  He,  at  least,  had  never  borne  her  any  ill-will 
for  marrying  his  younger  brother,  though  that  event 
had  undoubtedly  proved  the  calamity  of  poor  Edward's 
early-closed  life.  From  the  beginning  he  had  recog- 
nized, in  distinct  opposition  to  his  mother,  that  Agnes 
was  quite  blameless.  If  a  medical  student  of  twenty 
chooses  to  lose  his  head  over  his  landlady's  daughter, 
it  does  not  follow  she  is  a  designing  person  who  has 
entangled  him  in  her  net.  Unfortunately  the  old  Mrs. 
Ruthven,  entrenched  far  away  in  the  country,  would 
not  reason  that  way,  and  her  hatred  for  her  undesircd 
daughter-in-law  had  depths  which  the  latter  alone  di- 
vined in  her  most  morbid  moments.  Hubert's  mother,  in 
fact,  was  one  of  those  persons  whose  ardent  prejudices 
create  new  tragedy  besides  intensifying  what  already 
exists ;  and  when,  after  Edward's  death,  she,  already 
wounded  by  Hubert's  lenient  attitude  throughout,  pas- 
sionately declared  he  must  leave  Agnes  and  her  "  brats  " 
to  their  own  devices  or  never  come  near  her  again,  he 
bowed  his  head  to  the  necessity  for  such  an  estrange- 
ment. To  Agnes  he  had  never  said  anything  about  the 
quarrel. 

Her  reply  to-day  was  characteristic. 

"  Don't  you  be  unhappy  on  my  account,"  she  said. 
"  It's  enough  my  own  life  is  miserable,  and,  if  it  weren't 
for  the  children " 


12  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

He  knew  from  experience  the  sequence  of  plaintive 
phrases  of  which  her  tongue  had  acquired  the  habit. 

"  Don't  be  a  goose,"  he  interrupted  airily.  "  Things 
are  going  to  be  different  now.  You  and  the  children 
must  have  a  better  time  in  future." 

Now  that  he  had  come  to  the  point,  he  stopped  a 
moment  to  collect  his  ideas.  She  did  not  betray  any 
impatience,  but  sat  waiting  with  a  studied  indifference. 

"  I  mean  this,"  he  resumed  slowly,  hoping  she  would 
listen  without  interrupting.  "  As  you  know,  I  have 
never  had  any  fortune  to  help  me.  My  mother,  im- 
poverished through  various  causes  that  I  need  not  dwell 
upon,  had  to  pinch  for  years  to  give  us  boys  a  decent 
education  and  a  start  in  life.  It  took  me  years  at  the 
bar  before  I  could  depend  on  the  most  modest  income. 
It  is  only  during  the  last  two  or  three  that  things  have 
at  all  shown  any  improvement.  Of  late,  in  fact,  I  have 
been  going  up — up — up,  all  of  a  rush  somehow.  So  I 
mustn't  complain.  No  doubt  it  is  somewhat  of  an 
achievement  now-a-days  for  a  man  who  wishes  to  live 
honourably  and  shun  intrigue  and  flattery  and  every 
kind  of  mean  trick  to  feel  himself  fairly  afloat  at  my 
age — I  am  thirty-five,  you  know.  To  come  then  to  my 
point.  You  know  how  much  I  have  always  cared  for 
the  children.  Well,  for  years  I  have  been  exercised 
about  their  future.  Till  now  what  I've  been  able  to 
spare  has  been  little  enough.  Don't  look  so  cross,  please ! 
I  have  always  been  grateful  to  you  for  not  refusing  me 
the  chance  of  doing  what  I  could  for  them." 

She  needed  careful  handling.  Often  when  he  came 
with  the  usual  cheque  she  would  make  a  show  of  refusal, 
vowing  she  and  her  children  must  not  be  a  burden  on 
him  any  longer.  (Whilst  the  reluctance,  which  she  per- 
mitted him  each  time  to  override,  was  no  doubt  sincere 
at  the  moment,  she  would  next  day  proceed  to  lay  out 
the  money  quite  cheerfully,  regarding  it  as  legitimate 
income.) 


THE  BACHELOR  13 

Having  warded  off  the  threatened  interruption,  he 
was  able  to  explain  himself  further  and  impress  upon 
Agnes  his  anxiety  that  the  children  should  at  once 
benefit  by  his  modest  prosperity,  that  they  should  get  a 
good  education  and  refined  surroundings.  They  prom- 
ised to  be  beautiful,  and  they  showed  great  intelligence. 
Why  should  they  not  have  their  opportunities  when  it 
was  in  his  power  to  afford  them  such?  "  I  want  them 
to  live  full  and  happy  lives,  and  it  would  be  a  great 
happiness  to  me  to  see  their  talents  developed.  Of  course 
just  now  I  can  only  give  you  my  ideas  m  the  most 
general  way,  but  the  beginning,  at  any  rate,  seems 
clear.  You  must  move  to  a  pretty  little  house  and  get 
some  nice  furniture.  For  a  time  the  girls  could  be 
educated  at  home.  As  for  the  future,  we  must  feel 
our  way  as  time  goes  on." 

The  first  flow  of  ideas  exhausted,  Hubert  stopped, 
ready  for  a  certain  amount  of  captious  opposition;  but 
he  counted,  as  usual,  on  getting  his  way.  Agnes  seemed 
to  be  reflecting  a  moment.  He  noticed  that  she  was 
trembling  as  if  from  the  effort  of  collecting  and  con- 
centrating her  thoughts  preparatory  to  a  great  pouring- 
forth.  Her  colour  deepened,  and  the  lines  about  her 
mouth  grew  more  distinctly  marked.  Her  eyes  were  fev- 
erishly alight.  In  that  moment  when  all  the  life  in  her 
seemed  to  be  gathered  in  her  face,  Hubert  felt  the  old 
vanished  prettiness  behind  a  veil  of  something  that  was 
hideous  and  twitching.  He  had  a  sense  of  the  infinite 
pathos  of  things,  knowing  now  he  had  struck  with  all 
his  might  on  the  chord  of  her  being. 

"  I  expected  you  would  come  to  me  like  this  one 
day,"  she  said  at  length ;  "  and  that  we'd  have  to  find 
out  exactly  how  we  meant  to  go  on.  There  are  things 
that  had  better  be  said  straight  out,  and  that  I  always 
knew  would  have  to  be  said.  Well,  the  principal  thing 
I  want  you  to  understand  is  that  the  children  are  my 
children,  and  mine  they  are  going  to  remain.  It's  all 


14  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

very  fine  talking  so  grand  about  their  education  and 
their  future,  but  I  don't  want  them  one  day  to  look 
down  on  their  mother  and  be  ashamed  of  her.  I've  suf- 
fered enough  already  from  grand  people  looking  down 
on  me,  and  I'm  not  going  to  have  my  own  children  turn 
against  me.  As  for  learning  and  surroundings,  what 
was  good  enough  for  me  is  good  enough  for  them. 
Their  lives  are  quite  safe  in  my  hands,  and  I'd  rather 
die  this  minute  than  let  anybody  else  get  hold  of  them 
and  poison  them  against  me." 

Hubert  protested  the  innocence  of  his  intentions,  but 
she  rose  and  faced  him  with  folded  arms. 

"  Don't  you  think  I  can't  see  through  the  dodge.  If 
you  and  your  mother  think  you  are  going  to  dazzle  me 
with  your  pretty  houses  and  furniture  so  as  to  do  me 
out  of  my  children  sooner  or  later,  you  are  very  much 
mistaken.  You  belong  to  one  world  and  we  belong  to 
another,  and  I  long  ago  learnt  the  mistake  of  having 
anything  to  do  with  people  different  from  those  one 
is  born  and  bred  among.  It  only  leads  to  heart- 
ache." 

He  had  scarcely  foreseen  the  line  she  had  adopted.  Of 
course  her  suspicion  that  he  deliberately  meant  to  wean 
her  children  away  from  her  was  ridiculous,  but  he  had 
to  admit  to  himself  that  her  perception  of  the  possi- 
bilities of  the  future  was  shrewd  enough.  His  face  fell. 

"  I  shall  certainly  not  sell  my  children,"  she  resumed, 
conscious  of  possessing  what  "  the  others  "  coveted,  and 
further  fortified  by  the  thought  of  the  hoard,  put  to- 
gether penny  by  penny,  that  was  hidden  in  her  chest- 
of -drawers — possible  capital  for  a  lodging-house  of  her 
own.  "  If  it  wasn't  out  of  consideration  for  your  feel- 
ings, I  shouldn't  accept  a  penny  even  now.  I  am  still 
strong  and  hearty,  thank  God,  and  there  is  always  work 
for  a  sober,  respectable  woman.  I'm  not  ashamed  to 
do  it,  though,  of  course,  a  gentleman  in  your  position 
must  not  allow  his  sister-in-law  to  soil  herself  with  honest 


THE  BACHELOR  15 

work — to  say  nothing  of  the  feelings  of  a  certain  high- 
and-mighty  lady." 

"  I  am  sorry  you  attribute  such  motives  to  me,"  he 
began.  Then,  remembering  that  argument  would  only 
be  wasted  on  her,  "  Won't  you  tell  me  your  own  ideas 
about  the  children?  "  he  preferred  to  ask. 

"  They  must  earn  their  own  livings,  as  I  did.  It 
won't  lose  their  souls  for  them  if  they  serve  behind 
the  counter.  And  when  the  time  comes  I  want  them 
to  marry  respectable,  hard-working  mechanics.  They'll 
be  happier  with  workmen  than  I  was  with  a  gentleman." 

Agnes  could  not  resist  the  chance  of  sarcasm.  In 
her  heart  she  had  higher  dreams  for  her  girls,  aspiring 
to  shop-keepers.  Hubert  did  not  know  that  her  sense 
of  social  differences  was  deeper  than  his  own,  and  that 
she  boasted  to  the  neighbours  of  her  high  connections 
through  her  husband. 

"  Besides,"  she  continued,  taking  her  seat  again  and 
falling  into  a  more  conciliatory  intonation,  as  if  to 
show  that,  though  there  might  be  differences  between 
them,  she  was  a  perfectly  reasonable  and  pleasant  person 
to  deal  with ;  "  it  isn't  as  if  I  can  always  go  on  expect- 
ing you  to  provide  for  them.  After  all  you'll  be 
wanting  to  get  settled  yourself  one  day.  A  man  can't 
always  remain  a  bachelor." 

She  was  unable  to  disguise  her  eagerness  to  draw 
from  him  some  statement. 

Hubert  was  taken  aback.  It  was  clear  that  the  sub- 
ject had  been  occupying  her  thoughts  and  he  felt 
almost  unreasonably  resentful.  What  right  had  a  person 
like  that — for  he,  despite  all  his  free-spirited  tolerance, 
was  conscious  of  the  great  gap  between  their  inner 
selves — to  attempt  to  discuss  his  life  with  him!  What 
could  her  gross  nature  understand  of  his  nature  and 
his  needs? 

But  he  would  not  be  otherwise  than  gentle  with  her, 
and  contented  himself  with  leaving  her  hint  unnoticed. 


16  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

"  It  will  be  always  my  business — and  my  pleasure — 
to  provide  for  the  children,  and  you  may  take  it  for 
granted  that  nothing  would  interfere  with  that." 

"  You  think  so  now,"  she  returned  in  a  tone  that 
indicated  an  immense  grasp  of  life.  "  The  sort  of 
woman  you'd  be  likely  to  marry  would  spend  money 
faster  than  you  could  earn  it.  You  don't  know  what 
it  costs  to  keep  a  fine  lady  in  dresses  so  that  she  may 
always  look  like  a  picture.  Do  you  think  she  would 
continue  to  care  for  you  if  you  couldn't  keep  up  her 
grand  house  and  give  her  all  the  dresses  she  wanted! 
Those  women  are  all  selfish  and  heartless — they  are 
brought  up  to  be  selfish  from  the  day  of  their  birth. 
She  wouldn't  consider  you  if  she  couldn't  get  her  way. 
They  are  sweet  and  nice  so  long  as  they  do  get  their 
way,  but  God  help  the  man  who  marries  one  of  them 
if  he  has  to  work  for  his  money." 

"  I  have  no  intention  of  marrying ! "  said  Hubert 
shortly. 

"  Ah,  that's  what  you  say  now,"  persisted  Agnes ; 
"  but  a  man  always  wants  to  settle  down.  You  can't 
go  on  living  all  alone  in  those  rooms.  I'm  sure  they 
never  get  a  proper  turning-out  from  one  year's  end  to 
another,  and  that  woman  taking  seven  shillings  a  week! 
Yes,  Vd  give  her  seven  shillings  a  week — I'd  break  her 
neck  out  of  the  place!  And  as  for  that  ragged  felt 
on  the  floor,  why  it  hasn't  been  taken  up  and  beaten 
for  a  century,  I  lay.  Faugh!  I  like  everything  sweet 
and  clean,  I  do.  And  what  would  you  do  if  you  were 
suddenly  taken  ill, — all  alone  there?  Why,  a  man 
might  keep  on  calling  out,  and  be  dead  before  any- 
body heard  him ! "  She  paused  only  to  shudder,  then 
resumed  immediately :  "  And,  as  I  say,  you  wouldn't 
care  about  marrying  in  the  way  poor  Edward  did — 
a  poor  respectable  girl,  who  had  plenty  of  spirit  and 
good  looks,  too,  and  who  knew  how  to  make  a  shilling 
go  as  far  as  anybody.  You'd  look  for  something 


THE  BACHELOR  17 

grander.  And  would  your  wife  care  about  us?  Would 
she  give  up  a  single  dress  for  our  sake?  Would  she 
deny  herself  the  least  trifle  she'd  set  her  heart  on? 
A  nice  thing,  indeed,  if  the  children  had  got  used  to 
luxuries.  Whereas,  as  things  are  now,  I  could  always 
earn  my  bit  of  bread." 

Hubert  had  resigned  himself  to  hearing  her  out, 
steadfastly  refraining  from  taking  up  the  theme.  He 
wretty  well  understood  the  twists  of  her  thoughts  and 
emotions,  so  perceived  that  the  question  of  his  marriage 
must  have  been  troubling  her  all  along;  despite  her  odd 
pride,  her  dependence  upon  him — in  the  eyes  of  het 
world  an  independence — had  become  so  established  a 
fact,  that,  even  whilst  she  rebelled  against  it,  she 
dreaded  the  loss  of  it. 

He  rose  to  bring  the  visit  to  and  end.  "  Perhaps  you 
care  to  think  it  over,"  he  suggested,  glancing  at  his 
watch.  "  I  am  sorry  I  must  hurry  away  now.  I  know 
you'll  excuse  my  going  so  soon,  but  I  have  an  en- 
gagement." 

She  was  rather  taken  aback  at  this  announcement 
as  she  was  just  beginning  to  warm  to  her  disquisition, 
and  was  prepared  to  continue  indefinitely.  But,  of 
course,  she  could  only  call  the  children  to  say  good-bye. 

"  Did  you  enjoy  your  story,  May?  "  he  asked. 

"  Rather !  The  walls  of  the  witch's  house  were  made 
of  barley-sugar  and  you  could  break  lumps  off  the 
window-sill  and  eat  them !  Wasn't  that  fine  ?  " 


m 

rHE  engagement  put  forward  by  Hubert  was 
no  imaginary  one.  He  had  been  collecting  a 
few  pounds  from  friends  for  an  old  law-clerk 
out  of  employment,  now  reduced  to  a  Bishops- 
gate  doss-house,  and  on  the  verge  of  going  still  lower. 
He  had  come  a  little  into  relation  with  the  man,  who 
had  often  had  to  call  at  his  chambers  with  documents; 
and  Hubert,  who  never  dismissed  an  appeal  unconsid- 
ered,  had  found  the  case  sufficiently  genuine  to  enlist  his 
good  offices.  The  incident  was  one  such  among  many, 
and  Hubert  had  quite  a  clientele  who  preferred  to  give 
their  half-crowns  through  him  rather  than  at  random. 
He  had  told  the  poor  man  to  call  at  his  chambers  at 
eight,  and,  of  course,  he  could  not  allow  the  temptation 
of  lingering  with  the  children  to  lead  him  into  inflicting 
a  disappointment. 

In  Pump  Court  he  found  the  man  already  waiting 
about  for  him.  Soon  he  had  handed  over  what  he  had 
been  able  to  get  together,  and  dismissed  the  recipient 
with  a  few  sympathetic  words.  There  were  papers  he 
had  to  look  through  during  the  evening,  but  he  felt  too 
depressed  to  touch  them  yet.  So,  abandoning  the  idea 
of  his  club  as  a  boredom,  he  went  to  seek  consolation 
by  whiling  away  an  hour  at  a  bookseller's  near  by.  As, 
later  on,  it  occurred  to  him  he  ought  to  eat  something, 
he  carried  off  two  tattered  volumes  that  had  tempted 
him,  and  entered  the  nearest  place  of  refreshment  to 
dine  on  a  sandwich  and  a  cup  of  coffee — not  because 
there  was  any  appetite  to  satisfy  but  just  to  feel  he 
was  dining. 

Frankly  his  conference  with  Agnes  had  disappointed 

18 


THE  BACHELOR  19 

him  keenly.  He  was  not  merely  checked  in  the  execution 
of  the  plan  on  which  he  had  set  his  heart ;  it  looked  as  if 
he  must  abandon  it  altogether.  There  seemed  nothing 
but  to  drift  on  as  at  present. 

He  returned  to  the  Temple,  got  his  papers  from  his 
business  room  on  the  ground  floor,  then  gloomily  climbed 
the  flights  of  stairs  to  the  chambers  he  had  occupied  now 
for  several  years.  His  sitting-room,  the  ancient  wain- 
scoting of  which  had  been  repainted  over  by  his  prede- 
cessor in  a  sort  of  creamy  white,  was  comfortable  enough 
in  its  rough-and-ready  way,  yet  not  without  a  certain 
refinement.  The  books  with  which  it  was  packed  formed 
its  dominant  feature;  here  and  there  they  had  accumu- 
lated in  disorderly  heaps.  A  good-sized  table,  topped 
with  leather,  arm-chairs  that  were  more  voluptuous  than 
beautiful,  a  large  Dutch  cabinet-escritoire,  exuberantly 
inlaid  and  bulging,  and  an  old  Frisian  clock,  made  up 
the  principal  furniture  of  the  room,  and  were  supple- 
mented by  a  few  sketches  and  prints  and  bibelots  that 
added  agreeably  to  the  feeling  of  the  ensemble.  There 
was  little  specifically  to  suggest  the  lawyer.  The  greater 
part  of  his  legal  library  was  below  in  his  business  room, 
and  the  books  here  pointed  rather  to  a  wide  general  cul- 
ture, the  number  of  worm-eaten  calf  bindings  indicat- 
ing a  habit  of  ferreting  in  old  bookshops. 

To  the  eye  of  his  brethren  Hubert  cut  a  fairly  in- 
teresting figure.  He  was  known  not  merely  as  an  able 
practitioner  on  the  Chancery  side,  occupying  himself 
more  with  chamber  than  with  Court  work,  and  distinctly 
on  the  rise,  but  likewise  as  one  who  had  employed  the 
years  of  waiting  to  such  good  purpose  that  he  had 
made  a  reputation  by  much  first-class  work  in  the  serious 
magazines  on  social  and  political  topics.  In  cultured 
democratic  circles — for  his  creed  was  advanced  liberalism 
— he  was  favourably  known  as  a  capable  and  enthusiastic 
exponent  of  their  ideals;  and  at  that  period — it  was  in 
the  early  eighties — those  ideals  looked  as  if  they  might 


20  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

one  day  become  respectable.  He  had  the  name  of  being 
reserved  in  many  respects,  for  few  knew  much  about  him 
personally.  It  was  taken  for  granted,  however,  that  his 
bachelor  existence  in  the  Temple  was  bound  to  come  to 
an  end  sooner  or  later,  and  that  he  would  probably 
blossom  some  day  into  a  Queen's  Counsel  and  a  member 
of  Parliament.  But  Hubert  was  not  deeply  touched  by 
these  conventional  ambitions.  He  loved  learning  and 
he  loved  philanthropy  more  than  anything  else  in  the 
world;  regretted  his  limited  time  for  the  one  and  his 
limited  power  for  the  other.  He  knew  well  the  darker 
sides  of  London ;  had  explored  its  slums  and  its  doss- 
houses,  had  studied  its  problems  of  work  and  poverty 
with  passionate  sympathy.  Of  all  careers  that  of  quiet 
service  to  humanity  touched  him  as  the  noblest. 

Though  unconcerned  with  caste,  Hubert  could  trace 
back  his  descent  for  many  generations.  His  ancestors 
had  belonged  to  the  yeoman  class,  sturdy  of  character 
and  endowed  with  serviceable  every-day  abilities;  obtuse 
in  many  directions,  yet  with  a  strong  sense  of  justice; 
oaken  temperaments,  austere  taskmasters,  that  had 
waxed  hearty  over  their  home-brewed  ale.  His  grand- 
father had  held  quite  a  respectable  estate,  and  his  father, 
advancing  still  further  in  gentility  with  a  university 
education,  had  married  the  incumbent's  daughter.  The 
university  education,  however,  seemed  to  have  proved 
fatal.  The  estate  did  not  prosper  in  his  hands,  and  he 
died  when  the  boys  were  still  young,  having  muddled 
through  practically  the  whole  of  it.  Hubert  and  his 
brother  grew  up  in  the  belief  that  their  mother  had  been 
left  in  much  reduced  circumstances  and  was  making 
sacrifices  to  give  them  professions  that  counted.  She 
still  occupied  the  same  modest  country  house  as  of  yore, 
entirely  immersed  in  local  interests,  and  nursing  a 
bitterness  that  her  early  hopes  for  her  sons  had  borne  so 
little  fruit.  She  was  over  sixty  now  and  her  mind  had 
acquired  an  iron  fixity.  She  had  been  brought  up  in  a 


THE  BACHELOR  21 

rigid  tory  tradition,  and  her  sons  had  broken  her  heart 
between  them;  the  younger  by  marrying  beneath  him, 
the  other  by  his  outrageous  democratic  principles  pub- 
lished so  openly. 

Not  that  Mrs.  Ruthven  gave  up  Hubert  immediately 
as  lost  when  she  realized  what  he  had  developed  into. 
She  was  hurt  and  angry,  but  too  masterful  a  spirit  not 
to  attempt  to  reclaim  him.  She  proceeded  straight  to 
the  attack  as  soon  as  she  had  him  to  herself,  and  there 
was  a  crude  attempt  to  thresh  out  first  principles  be- 
tween them.  How  could  any  intelligent  mind,  he  asked 
(forced  to  turn  at  bay  before  her  onslaught),  continue 
to  believe  that  nature  was  to  be  imposed  upon  by  the 
social  arrangements  of  feudalism,  and,  in  its  creation 
of  choice  souls,  was  to  be  coerced  into  dumping  them 
down  within  certain  assigned  limits.  A  choice  soul  was 
always  better  than  a  coarse  one,  whether  within  or  with- 
out the  pale  of  caste. 

"  So  you  contend  that  all  men  are  equal,"  she  ex- 
claimed, scandalized. 

.-  "  No,  indeed.  All  human  beings  are  by  no  means 
equal,  only  their  inequalities  do  not  find  a  true  embodi- 
ment in  your  feudalism.  We  want  a  thorough  over- 
hauling of  the  ranks.  You,  mother,  should  be  a  duchess 
at  the  least." 

But  she  was  deaf  to  blandishment,  and  only  put  out 
her  bristles  the  more  against  this  unfamiliar  morality 
of  his.  "  How  horribly  vulgar !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  You'll 
be  wanting  to  abolish  the  throne  next." 

There  followed  many  such  passage-at-arms  between 
the  two,  for  Mrs.  Ruthven  did  not  hesitate  to  pit  herself 
against  Hubert,  resentful  that  her  maternal  authority 
had  no  control  over  his  reason  and  convictions.  The 
relations  between  them  would  have  been  strained  to 
breaking-point  even  earlier  had  she  not  got  the  queer 
idea  into  her  head  that  Hubert  had  evolved  these  prin- 
ciples in  order  to  obscure  the  enormity  of  his  brother's 


2%  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

marriage.  So  she  had  yet  hopes  he  would  alter  his  ways 
of  thinking. 

Money  relations  between  them  had,  of  course,  ceased 
long  before  this.  Hubert  had  been  too  much  impressed 
by  her  forced  economies  not  to  hasten  his  self-depend- 
ence, and  it  was  little  enough  he  had  had  to  subsist  on 
during  his  early  days  in  London.  He  had  not  dared 
to  be  a  failure  in  life.  He  had  worked  terribly,  burning 
his  lamp  till  the  dawn  shamed  it.  What  wonder  if  he 
had  been  blind  to  Edward's  infatuation!  He  remem- 
bered his  dismay  at  hearing  of  the  marriage  a  fortnight 
after  it  had  taken  place.  Of  course  he  had  felt  bound 
to  help  the  couple  as  best  he  could  till  Edward  could 
find  a  minor  post  in  a  hospital  at  a  small  salary.  The 
years  had  gone  by,  Edward  dying  in  his  arms,  weak- 
ened by  overwork  and  worry,  an  easy  victim  of  pneu- 
monia. Since  then  a  permanent  strain  of  sadness  had 
entered  into  his  life,  for  he  had  always  felt  an  almost 
paternal  responsibility  towards  his  brother  who  had 
depended  on  him  much  in  boyhood,  and  he  had  loved 
him  with  a  deep  and  protecting  affection.  Edward's 
family  had  at  once  become  his  care — that  was  a  duty 
he  assumed  as  a  matter-of-course,  though  it  was  im- 
mediately called  into  question  by  his  mother  who  hence- 
forth regarded  poor  Agnes  as  her  son's  murderer.  Then 
had  come  the  regrettable  break  between  mother  and  son. 

Beyond  the  large  vague  floating  acquaintanceship  and 
the  one  or  two  intimate  friendships  of  an  intelligent 
barrister,  thrown  together  with  crowds  of  men  by  the 
common  accident  of  bachelorhood,  Hubert  had  no  very 
definite  social  anchorage.  His  experience  of  London 
life  had  been  straggling  and  chaotic.  In  the  earlier 
days  he  had  participated  a  little  in  the  usual  amuse- 
ments about  town,  and  he  had  found  a  welcome  at  all 
sorts  of  houses — at  centres  of  artistic  and  intellectual 
light;  in  pretentious  nondescript  drawing-rooms  where 
one  moved  in  an  atmosphere  of  pseudo-princesses  and 


THE  BACHELOR  S3 

marchese  and  palmists  and  vendors  of  complexion-tonics 
and  spiritualists  and  unknown  singers  who  were  to  take 
London  by  storm  one  day ;  at  "  mansions  "  in  Bays- 
water  or  the  suburbs  where  smart-looking  young  men 
danced  with  girls  who  enjoyed  themselves  with  ecstacy 
and  talked  much  of  the  season  and  going  out  to  parties. 

At  this  epoch,  too,  he  had  indulged  in  those  eager 
wanderings  in  the  obscurer  far-stretching  quarters  of 
London,  which,  at  first  undertaken  by  way  of  mere 
agreeable  variation  from  these  other  distractions,  had 
ended  by  fascinating  him  altogether  and  exercising  an 
important  influence  on  his  whole  mind. 

To  these  wanderings  he  was  still  addicted  when  he 
had  the  leisure,  but  he  had  long  since  forsworn  dan- 
cing, and,  with  social  circles  of  any  kind,  he  had,  in 
these  latter  years,  been  losing  touch  more  and  more; 
his  defection  in  this  respect  having  really  first  begun  at 
the  time  of  a  disappointment  in  love. 

For  Hubert,  too,  had  had  his  love  affair.  But  he 
had  had  the  misfortune  to  fall  among  Philistines  (or 
perhaps  good  fortune  rather,  for,  meeting  the  girl  after- 
wards when  she  was  a  wife  of  several  years  standing, 
he  could  not  at  all  make  out  why  she  had  once  fascin- 
ated him).  Be  it  as  it  may,  the  family  had  certainly 
fought  shy  of  a  struggling  barrister.  They  preferred 
to  abide  by  the  good  old  chivalrous  rule  that  a  man 
must  not  expect  a  woman  to  come  into  his  life  till  his 
struggle  is  over.  His  own  far-off  crown  of  success 
shone  with  but  a  faint  yellow  gleam  of  gold  across  the 
intervening  dark  spaces.  So,  under  parental  pressure, 
the  rosy  daughter  of  the  Philistines  broke  off  the  semi- 
engagement.  It  was  a  commonplace  affair  and  did 
not  matter  now.  The  experience,  nevertheless,  had 
helped  his  perception  of  the  world. 

And,  brought  every  day  face  to  face  with  the  facts 
of  life,  Hubert  had  schooled  himself  to  a  deep  patience 
and  a  large  tolerance.  Of  course  he  was  no  visionary. 


24  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

To  his  sympathetic  appreciation  of  the  finer  shades  of 
life  was  joined  a  practical  acquaintance  with  its  "  com- 
mon-sense "  aspect.  Impostors  did  not  fare  well  at  his 
hands.  And  ardent  democrat  though  he  was,  his  philos- 
ophy was  no  shallow  optimism.  He  did  not  believe  in  a 
millennium  to  be  secured  by  the  pressing  of  electric 
buttons.  He  frankly  perceived  that,  whereas  moral 
aspiration  might  be  unlimited,  moral  performance  must 
be  limited  by  natural  facts  and  conditions;  and  he  felt 
it  his  clear  duty  to  recognize  those  conditions  and  facts 
with  the  hope  that  human  life  might  improve  up  to  the 
utmost  limits  possible. 

Meanwhile,  apart  from  his  professional  advancement, 
Hubert  was  not  satisfied  that  he  was  making  very  much 
out  of  his  own  life!  It  seemed  to  be  just  going  on, 
to  be  leading  absolutely  to  nothing;  and  it  was  the 
longing  to  feel  in  his  existence  something  substantial 
and  human  that  had  urged  him  towards  the  idea  of  a 
closer  personal  relation  with  Edward's  children.  As 
he  had  told  Agnes,  he  did  not  himself  think  of  marrying 
now.  Year  after  year  (in  which  his  annual  surplus  had 
been  of  the  slenderest  after  those  ever-insistent  tiresome 
ends  had  been  brought  together)  had  had  an  unas- 
suming way  of  slipping  by,  and  the  habit  of  not  falling 
in  love,  once  acquired,  is  not  easily  broken. 

In  his  case  not  only  was  there  this  habit  to  be  reck- 
oned with,  but  life  now  did  not  even  foster  the  idea  of 
marriage  by  offering  plausible  possibilities ;  so  that,  when 
he  thought  about  it  at  all,  marriage  seemed  absurdly 
difficult.  He  had  indeed  once  or  twice  amused  him- 
self by  reasoning  the  whole  subject  out — half  seriously, 
half  self-banteringly.  The  ideal  girl  for  a  man  like 
himself  must  be  one  with  a  soul  above  conventional 
luxuries,  with  ability  to  manage  on  his  moderate  earn- 
ings, and  sufficient  good  sense  to  be  satisfied  with  the 
simple  (though  not  sordid)  mode  of  living  thus  involved. 
He  would  prefer  her  to  be  beautiful,  and  she  must  be 


THE  BACHELOR  25 

highly  cultivated  and  sufficiently  clever  for  him  to 
admire  and  be  proud  of  her.  (Of  course  she  must  have 
formed  for  herself  democratic  ideas.)  She  must  be 
sweet-natured  and  kind-hearted  and  patient  to  a  fault; 
not  likely  to  forget  duty  in  pursuing  pleasure,  and 
neither  letting  the  humble  details  of  daily  life  gain 
entire  possession  of  her  soul,  nor  unduly  imagining  her 
soul  to  be  entirely  above  them. 

Now  he  would  have  wanted  to  marry  such  a  woman 
for  love,  and  she  must  also  be  in  love  with  him;  and  so 
surprising  a  simultaneity  of  inclination  appeared  to 
him  highly  improbable.  Besides,  in  the  limited  op- 
portunities afforded  of  studying  this  or  that  woman  in 
the  ordinary  social  course,  one  could  never  be  quite 
sure  that  one  had  come  across  the  sort  of  woman  one 
really  wanted.  Quite  apart  from  the  mutual  falling-in- 
love,  the  mutual  pitching,  in  fact,  on  just  the  right 
person  would  be  nothing  less  than  miraculous.  But 
even  assuming  this  miraculous  point  to  have  been 
reached,  the  immediate  outlook  might  easily  be  most 
fearful  to  contemplate;  for,  in  reality,  one  married  not 
merely  an  individual  but  a  whole  environment,  full  of 
traditions,  religions,  prejudices,  troubles,  dissensions  and 
people,  with  all  of  which  one  might  be  violently  out  of 
harmony,  and  absorption  into  which  one  might  have 
to  resist  with  one's  whole  might.  But  that  was  letting 
one's  thoughts  run  away  with  one,  for  how  could  one 
ever  get  so  far  as  that?  How  could  a  mature  man  put 
himself  in  the  impossibly  ridiculous  position  of  being 
the  marked  wooer  of  a  particular  woman  in  a  particular 
family,  with  probably  a  pompous  father  with  dogmatic 
tendencies  where  he  was  most  ignorant,  and  a  pseudo- 
fashionable  mother  with  a  monstrous  interest  in  count- 
esses and  duchesses.  Then,  of  course,  there  would  be  a 
swarm  of  brothers  and  sisters,  besides  all  sorts  of  strange 
friends  and  relatives  whom  one  would  stumble  up  against 
in  the  household — amiable  snobbish  idiots  to  whom  one 


26  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

would  have  to  be  cordial.  Hubert's  hair  stood  on  end 
as  his  imagination,  assisted  by  his  one  experience,  fig- 
ured out  all  these  likelihoods. 

No,  he  could  not  face  anything  like  that!  And  per- 
haps it  was  just  as  well  he  couldn't,  he  argued,  for 
you  could  never  really  tell  how  any  marriage  would 
turn  out.  The  woman  might  hate  you  in  the  end  for 
not  making  enough  money,  however  romantic  the  notions 
with  which  she  might  be  starting.  Such  cases  had, 
indeed,  come  under  his  own  observation.  Then  there 
was  the  danger  of  her  developing  into  a  shrew  and 
making  your  life  miserable.  Or  she  might  possess  a 
tragic  temperament  and  constantly  threaten  to  take 
poison,  or  want  to  go  on  the  stage,  or  elope  with  some- 
body else. 

No  doubt  a  suitable  mate  existed  for  him  somewhere, 
and  the  mating  might  even  have  been  mentioned  in 
heaven;  but  he  could  not  emulate  the  knights  of  medi- 
aeval legend  and  fare  forth  in  quest  of  her.  As  his 
friend  Preston  put  it:  now-a-days  to  achieve  marriage 
required  positive  genius,  whereas  formerly  it  required 
genius  not  to  achieve  it.  Besides,  marriage  seemed  to 
involve  a  deliberate  stopping  and  a  recommencement  of 
life.  Such  a  forcible  applying  of  the  brake  gave  him 
much  too  violent  a  wrench,  even  as  a  mere  idea.  So  one 
day  Hubert  was  much  relieved  to  find  he  had  become 
permanently  reconciled  to  bachelorhood. 

To-night,  when  Hubert  had  gone  through  his  papers 
and  put  them  aside,  he  was  glad  to  lie  back  languidly  in 
his  arm-chair.  The  hour's  mental  effort  had  taken  him 
out  of  himself  but  now  his  thoughts  made  free  play 
again. 

He  realized  he  was  frightfully  depressed.  Evidently 
it  had  shaken  him  more  than  he  had  thought — this 
determination  of  Agnes  to  stand  between  him  and  the 
children.  His  affection  for  them  astonished  himself. 


THE  BACHELOR  27 

He  felt  their  cheeks  pressing  against  his,  the  touch  of 
their  little  hands,  the  freshness  of  their  hair,  the  sweet- 
ness of  their  voices  that  had  in  them  something  akin 
to  the  sweetness  of  spring. 

Again  he  was  holding  them  to  his  heart,  these  children 
of  his  brother ;  May,  so  full  of  spirit,  Gwenny,  so  grave 
in  her  beautiful  child's  way ! 

He  longed  for  them  with  an  infinite  tenderness ! 

The  blank  uniformity  of  lonely  years  to  come  thrust 
a  bleakness  into  the  rooms.  Agnes  was  right;  but  what 
change  could  ever  come  in  his  life  now? 

Well,  so  let  it  be.  He  would  think  of  nothing  but  his 
labour  from  day  to  day.  As  well  moulder  here  as  else- 
where ! 

And  with  a  spasm  of  the  heart  he  thought  again  of 
his  mother  and  all  the  unnecessary  bitterness  she  had 
caused  in  his  life  and  hers  by  her  obdurate  demand  for 
his  implicit  submission,  and  by  her  hatred  of  these  chil- 
dren, off-spring  of  a  mesalliance  that  had  ruined  and 
destroyed  her  son. 

Hubert  groaned.  "  If  only  Preston  were  to  come  to- 
night to  cheer  me  up ! "  he  murmured. 

There  was  an  irregular  characteristic  plying  of  his 
knocker  just  then. 


IV 

/T  was  Mr.  Robert  Preston  himself. 
"  I  hope  you  were  thinking  of  me,"  he  said, 
as  they  shook  hands. 

"  I  was  invoking  you  in  my  misery,"  Hubert 
assured  him. 

"  The  devil !  "  exclaimed  Preston.  "  You  haven't 
taken  advantage  of  my  absence  to  fall  in  love  behind 
my  back?  " 

"  Oh,  I've  been  in  love  for  ever  so  long  now." 
"  Delighted  to  learn  you  are  so  prosperous,  but  I'd 
rather  you  had  chosen  some  other  way  of  informing 
me." 

"  There  are  insuperable  difficulties." 
"  You  relieve  me  considerably !  "  He  fell  into  a  chair. 
Robert  Preston  was  some  three  or  four  years  younger 
than  Hubert,  and  his  appearance  defied  every  other 
classification  save  that  of  smart  man  of  the  world. 
He  was  the  chief  recreation  of  Hubert's  life.  His  whim- 
sical talk  was  always  a  tonic,  for  a  more  expert  juggler 
with  ideas  could  scarcely  haxe  existed.  He  was  splen- 
didly built,  yet  slim  and  as  perfectly  tailored  as  any 
dandy.  His  features  were  frank  and  pleasant,  his  eyes 
keen-glancing,  his  teeth  perfect;  and  he  wore  a  close- 
cropped  brown  beard  that  suited  him  remarkably. 
Sprig  of  an  important  old  family,  the  various  branches 
of  which  had  seats  all  over  the  Western  counties,  he  was 
in  the  happy  position  of  being  a  younger  son  with  a 
moderate  fortune  of  his  own;  with  every  hereditary 
advantage  and  no  hereditary  burdens.  But  he  was  not 
in  favour  with  his  clan.  He  had  gone  his  own  way  and 
thought  his  own  thoughts;  had  avoided  universities  and 

28 


THE  BACHELOR  29 

degrees;  had  not  entered  either  of  the  services,  or  de- 
sired to  follow  a  learned  or  any  other  kind  of  profession. 
Nor  had  he  manifested  any  political  ambitions,  or  the 
least  flicker  of  interest  in  the  affairs  of  his  county. 
He  had  never  written  a  book  or  a  magazine  article  or 
even  a  poem.  He  could  fence  and  shoot  and  ride,  but 
he  would  not  hunt,  and  he  avoided  the  cricket  and  foot- 
ball fields.  He  puzzled  the  family  though  they  had 
long  given  up  the  puzzle.  So  far  as  they  had  any 
definite  ideas  about  him,  they  had  somehow  formed  the 
conception  that  he  was  a  bizarre  personality,  weirdly 
clever  if  only  one  could  get  to  know  him;  and  that  he 
was  somewhat  of  a  renegade,  though  he  had  never  been 
known  to  express  any  social  or  political  convictions,  or 
to  throw  himself  into  any  movement.  But  he  had  prac- 
tically cut  them  all,  despite  the  unimpeachability  of 
their  honourable  standing;  and  they  more  or  less  re- 
sented his  existence,  and  even  more  than  his  existence 
the  strange  mental  superiority  which  they  could  not  help 
attributing  to  him,  and  which  they  morbidly  felt  to  be 
holding  them  in  unrighteous  contempt.  It  was  no 
wonder  that  his  attitude  made  them  a  little  restive;  it 
was  the  first  insinuation  for  centuries  that  they  might 
not  be  so  absolutely  of  the  salt  of  the  universe.  So,  not 
quite  sure  that  he  wasn't  a  disgrace  to  the  family,  they, 
with  well-bred  discretion,  evaded  the  perplexity  by  dis- 
missing him  as  "  eccentric." 

In  town  the  Preston  clan,  punctiliously  fashionable  in 
its  arrivals  and  departures,  was  in  evidence  everywhere. 
It  had  contributed,  from  its  endless  ramifications,  per- 
manent officials  to  the  Government  offices,  colonels  and 
majors  to  the  army,  captains  to  the  navy,  secretaries  to 
the  legations,  and  incumbents  to  the  Church;  nay, 
though  of  the  usual  undistinguished  yet  unexceptionable 
sort  characteristic  of  the  blood,  even  one  or  two  ministers 
to  Cabinets.  Brothers  and  sisters  of  Preston's,  all  mar- 
ried— for  he  was  the  celibate  of  the  family — all  urbane 


30  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

and  prosperous,  bloomed  in  large  conventional  establish- 
ments all  over  Mayfair  and  Kensington.  All  the  bearded 
brothers  seemed  alike  (stouter  and  ruddier  than  the 
renegade)  whether  strolling  up  Piccadilly,  or  out  driv- 
ing with  their  sleek,  well-dressed  wives  in  faultless  shin- 
ing equipages,  or  as  endlessly  reduplicated  in  the  large 
maroon  arm-chairs  of  the  club- windows ;  and  all  the 
discreetly  married  sisters  seemed  alike,  whether  emerging 
into  the  sunshine  from  the  cool  gloom  of  charming  in- 
teriors, between  rows  of  servants,  to  go  a  round  of 
visiting,  or  graciously  acknowledging  from  their  car- 
riages the  salutes  of  speckless  club-men  lounging  smartly 
along  the  Bond-street  pavement,  or  presiding  in  large 
dim  drawing-rooms  at  whispered  conversation  over  tea- 
cups under  soft  silk  lamp-shades. 

One  of  the  sisters,  however,  who  lived  far  off  in  North 
Wales,  had  some  affinity  with  Robert,  and  there  was  a 
strange  sympathy  and  affection  between  the  two.  He 
would  often  stop  with  her  at  all  sorts  of  odd  times  when 
he  desired  to  slip  away  from  London.  From  such  a 
trip,  in  fact,  he  had  just  returned,  for  his  sister  had 
not  come  up  to  town  that  season,  being  too  interested 
in  certain  pet  dairy  schemes  she  had  initiated  on  her 
estate  to  be  drawn  away  from  them  at  a  critical  mo- 
ment. 

He  looked  sceptical  at  Hubert's  confession  though  im- 
pressed by  his  obvious  languor. 

"  I  came  here  to  indulge  in  the  luxury  of  getting 
pitied  myself,"  he  grumbled.  "  I  go  down  to  Flintshire 
for  an  agreeable  fortnight,  and  I  find  Marian  all  bacteri- 
ology and  butter.  ...  I  stood  out  against  the  bacteri- 
ology but  I  couldn't  get  let  off  the  butter  anyhow.  I 
had  to  keep  tasting  and  making  ecstatic  faces  the  whole 
time,  to  say  nothing  of  the  quarts  of  curds  and  whey 
forced  down  my  gullet.  Marian  is  delightful  if  one  is 
lucky  enough  to  catch  her  in  between  two  enthusiasms. 
Ultimately  I  fled  to  you  for  refuge." 


THE  BACHELOR  31 

"  You  know  where  the  whisky  is,"  said  Hubert 
promptly.  "  And  please  give  me  some  as  well." 

Preston  readily  complied.  "  My  sister  sends  you  a 
message,  by  the  way.  You  are  to  let  me  bring  you 
down  to  spend  the  vacation  with  her.  I  promised  to 
come  myself  if  I  could  induce  you  to.  The  butter  will 
probably  have  quieted  down  a  little  by  then.  I  hope 
your  insuperably  difficult  love  affair  won't  stand  in  the 
way." 

"  Not  at  all.     I  am  delighted  at  the  idea." 

"  Bravo !  Flintshire  will  cure  you.  There's  nothing 
more  melancholy — save  perhaps  an  overdose  of  curds 
and  whey — than  hanging  about  the  skirts  of  a  woman 
who  doesn't  care  for  you.  A  woman  either  turns  her 
back  on  you  or  falls  into  your  arms;  it  is  only  with  an 
effort  she  can  be  civil  to  a  man  she  feels  indifferent 
about." 

"  Let  us  not  talk  about  women.  Did  we  not  agree 
ever  so  long  ago  that  the  subject  palled?" 

"  Don't  forget  the  only  other  thing  in  the  universe 
about  which  we  have  ever  agreed — that  matrimony  is 
too  risky  for  contemplation.  The  only  positive  advan- 
tage about  it  I  could  ever  see  is  the  opportunity  it 
affords  for  discarding  one's  old  dressing-bag." 

"  As  symbolic,  I  suppose,  of  the  disreputable  trap- 
pings of  bachelorhood,"  said  Hubert,  smiling.  He  had 
a  vision  of  the  veteran  portmanteau — battered  and 
scarred  by  a  hundred  campaigns — that  went  forwards 
and  backwards  between  Jermyn-street  and  Flintshire. 
"  But  I  don't  contemplate  any  such  extravagant  pro- 
ceeding. There  are  only  two  little  girls." 

"  So  that's  the  insuperable  difficulty — bigamy !  " 

"  I  only  want  to  be  a  sort  of  father  to  them." 

Preston  looked  puzzled  again  and  then  guessed. 
"  Ah !  You  want  to  adopt  your  brother's  kids." 

Hubert  smiled.  "  Well,  pretty  nearly.  I  want  them 
at  any  rate  to  have  a  chance  in  life.  But  the  mother 


32  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

stands  in  the  way.  She  fears  it  might  lead  to  her  ulti- 
mately losing  them." 

"  Poor  devil !  "  said  Preston.  "  I  suppose  she  wants 
them  to  grow  up  to  be  of  her  sort.  Better  let  them 
alone." 

"  There's  scarcely  anything  else  to  do,"  said  Hubert 
ruefully.  "  But  I  rather  set  my  heart  on  seeing  more  of 
them  and  educating  them  properly.  To  tell  the  truth 
I've  been  planning  the  thing  out  rather  elaborately. 
They  are  beautiful  children,  with  nice  soft  little  cheeks 
and  bright  hair  and  pretty  ways,  and  I'm  terribly  dis- 
gusted at  having  the  idea  knocked  on  the  head.  The 
mother  was  simply  great — she  rose  to  the  occasion." 

Preston  reflected.  "  From  what  you've  told  me  about 
her,  I  should  say  she  is  one  of  those  persons  who  are 
great  on  great  occasions  and  a  nuisance  at  all  other 
times." 

"  Oh,  I  can't  reasonably  complain,  only  I  was  so  set 
on  the  idea." 

"  In  imagination  you  were  already  teaching  them  the 
multiplication  table,"  said  Preston  good-humouredly. 
"  And  now  life  with  the  multiplication  table  left  out 
seems  a  barren  and  futile  thing." 

Hubert  laughed.  "  Seriously  the  outlook  is  bleak.  I 
feel  very  gloomy.  I  should  be  happier  if  I  could  only 
feel  things  were  going  to  be  all  right  for  the  children. 
You  know  I  am  reasonably  philosophic,  but  this  is  the 
first  thing  for  years  I  really  wanted — wanted  with  that 
ridiculous  intensity  with  which  the  average  person 
usually  wants  things." 

"  Poor  chap !  Let  me  give  you  some  more  whisky. 
Don't  look  so  awful — drink,  sing — anything !  You  said 
you  were  invoking  me,  and,  now  that  the  devil  has  ap- 
peared, you  won't  sell  your  soul  to  him.  You  know  I've 
always  had  designs  on  your  soul." 

"  You  know  I  can't  sing,"  said  Hubert ;  "  but  I'll 
whistle  instead." 


THE  BACHELOR  33 

He  screwed  up  his  mouth  and  chirrupped  feebly. 

"  Stop,  stop !  "  cried  Preston ;  "  that's  doesn't  sound 
at  all  natural.  You  are  evidently  in  a  bad  way." 

"  I  am.  I  wish  I  were  dead."  Hubert  lay  back  in 
his  chair  apathetically. 

"  What  an  awful  mess  your  books  are  in !  "  exclaimed 
Preston  with  a  sudden  sly  inspiration.  He  rose  and 
pretended  to  be  interested  in  the  book-shelves. 

"  There's  really  nothing  to  fill  up  life  with,"  said 
Hubert,  ignoring  the  remark. 

"  Well,  if  I,  who  have  nothing  to  do,  get  through  life 
very  comfortably,  you  ought  to  get  along  pretty  well. 
It's  like  hearing  a  man  with  a  million  a  year  complain 
he  can't  make  ends  meet,  whilst  my  own  humble  three 
thousand  afford  a  surplus.  But  I  really  can't  stand  this 
awful  mess ;  I'm  going  to  arrange  your  books  for  you." 

He  took  off  his  coat  and  set  to  work  methodically. 

"  There's  scarcely  an  attempt  at  classification,"  he 
remarked.  "  Suppose  I  clear  these  three  shelves  and 
start  by  putting  all  the  history  together." 

He  cleared  the  space  carefully,  depositing  the  books 
on  the  floor  in  neat  columns.  Hubert  sat  eyeing  the 
process  with  almost  immediate  interest.  When  Pres- 
ton next  began  picking  out  the  far-scattered  volumes 
of  history,  and  arranging  them  beautifully,  the  gloom 
on  Hubert's  face  lightened,  and,  in  spite  of  his  languor, 
he  soon  found  himself  giving  an  occasional  instruction. 
In  about  an  hour — which  seemed  to  Hubert  to  fly — 
some  two  hundred  volumes  had  been  neatly  placed. 
Preston  then  proceeded  to  clear  more  shelves  and  to 
get  together  all  works  on  political  economy.  Hubert, 
who  had  sat  bolt  upright  long  ago,  and  whose  occasional 
remark  had  passed  into  a  constant  fusillade  of  sugges- 
tions, was  at  last  fascinated  into  action.  Off  went  his 
coat,  too,  his  face  shone  eagerly,  and  soon  he  was  work- 
ing shoulder  to  shoulder  with  Preston,  the  two  whistling 
in  chorus ;  his  own  note  now  soaring  mellow  and  sonorous. 


34  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

The  time  sped,  and  suddenly  Preston,  on  whose  face 
a  sly  smile  had  appeared  at  intervals,  announced  it  was 
midnight,  and  suggested  it  would  do  Hubert  good  to 
stroll  with  him  in  the  direction  of  Jermyn-street. 

Much  cheered  up  by  these  agreeable  labours,  and 
without  a  suspicion  that  Preston  had  deliberately  lured 
him  out  of  his  lethargy,  Hubert  willingly  fell  in  with 
the  suggestion. 

"  I'll  come  in  again  in  a  day  or  two  to  help  you  finish 
off  the  job.  And  you  really  oughtn't  to  let  them  get 
into  such  a  state  again.  We're  both  as  black  as  niggers. 
Let's  wash." 

So  they  adjourned  to  the  next  room  to  get  clean 
again.  Hubert  explained  that,  as  his  principal  solace 
was  the  bookshops,  and  fresh  piles  accumulated  every 
week,  he  had  to  stow  them  away  as  best  he  could. 
Preston,  who  by  now  was  rather  bored  by  books,  cau- 
tiously led  the  topic  away  from  them,  and  spoke  of 
their  proposed  visit  to  his  sister.  He  was  getting  rest- 
less in  London  now,  he  confessed.  He  had  forgotten 
that,  on  the  day  before  leaving  town,  he  had  changed 
his  Jermyn-street  quarters  from  the  first  to  the  fourth 
floor  of  the  same  house,  and  was  rather  astonished  to-day 
to  find  he  had  to  go  up  so  many  stairs  to  get  home 
again.  He  had  made  the  change,  he  explained  whim- 
sically, to  annoy  his  valet-landlord,  who  had  got  the 
lease  of  the  upper  part  of  four  floors  pretty  cheaply, 
and  sublet  them  extortionately  as  chambers,  blacking  the 
boots  himself.  Preston  had  been  paying  him  three  hun- 
dred pounds  a  year  for  the  common-place  rooms  on  the 
first  floor.  The  top  rooms  were  less  than  half  that,  but 
then  they  were  further  off  from  this  wretched  scamp  who 
constantly  reeked  of  alcohol,  and  it  would  be  punishing 
him  for  his  greed  by  making  him  tramp  up  so  many 
flights  of  steps  in  response  to  the  bell.  He  frankly  re- 
joiced in  the  man's  woes,  and  rubbed  his  hands  glee- 
fully at  the  thought  of  the  many  months  it  would  take 


THE  BACHELOR  35 

to  relet  the  first  floor  at  that  absurd  rent,  even  though 
"  clubland  was  round  the  corner  " — as  the  auctioneers 
had  it — and  new  batches  of  gilded  youth  might  be  com- 
ing up  daily  for  their  first  taste  of  London  life  on  a 
basis  of  independent  bachelorhood. 

"  You  must  come  and  see  these  new  diggings  of  mine 
to-morrow — I  won't  keep  you  out  of  your  bed  to-night. 
We'll  have  a  house-warming  all  to  ourselves  and  then  go 
off  to  dine." 

Hubert  suddenly  remembered  he  had  an  engagement 
for  the  afternoon,  and  could  not  turn  up  till  half-past 
seven. 

"  Going  to  see  some  actress,  I  suppose,"  said  Preston 
rallyingly. 

"  Precisely ! "  said  Hubert,  much  to  his  friend's 
astonishment.  "  Thank  you  for  reminding  me.  Now 
I  come  to  think  of  it,  you  introduced  me  to  her  three 
years  ago." 

"  I?  "  exclaimed  Preston. 

"  I  don't  wonder  you've  forgotten.  You  were  only 
introduced  to  her  the  moment  before.  It  was  at  Mar- 
vin's studio — on  a  show  Sunday — and  you  passed  her  on 
to  me.  I  don't  suppose  you've  ever  seen  her  since.  But 
perhaps  you  remember — a  fair-haired,  bright-faced 
creature,  with  shining  aspiring  eyes,  and  she  had  such  a 
cheerful,  friendly  manner." 

"  Not  in  the  least.  All  the  same  I'm  interested.  Please 
proceed." 

'  You  need  not  look  so  suspicious.  I  have  scarcely 
seen  her  half-a-dozen  times  in  all,  and  this  is  the  first 
time  I  have  heard  from  her  since  November.  All  the 
same  I  seem  to  know  her  very  well  indeed,  though  I 
can't  quite  make  out  how." 

By  some  accident  Hubert's  first  conversation  with 
Miss  Powers  had  been  "  serious,"  and  so  the  thread  of 
acquaintanceship  had  been  carried  forward.  Constance 
Powers  was  mostly  away  "  on  tour  "  (though  she  cher- 


36  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

ished  the  hope  of  a  London  engagement  some  day),  but 
at  long  intervals  she  would  write  to  him  to  announce 
her  presence  in  town  and  ask  him  to  tea  at  her  lodgings. 
As  she  figured  so  little  in  his  thoughts  that  he  practically 
forgot  her  existence  for  weeks  at  a  time,  her  letter  gener- 
ally came  upon  him  as  a  surprise.  Yet  he  was  always 
pleased  to  renew  the  acquaintance.  He  felt  she  had 
compelled  his  respect,  and  he  was  sure  she  was  a  very 
good  creature.  Moreover,  lie  sympathized  with  her  in 
her  professional  struggles,  knowing  she  worked  hard 
and  earned  little.  After  an  unusually  long  silence  on 
her  part  he  had  heard  from  her  only  the  day  before, 
but  the  interview  with  his  sister-in-law  had  put  her — 
and  most  other  things — out  of  his  head. 

He  told  Preston  what  he  knew  of  her.  She  was  one 
of  a  large  family — there  were  five  sisters  and  three 
brothers.  The  father  was  a  civil  servant,  of  good  ex- 
traction, and  he  had  inherited  the  sole  relics  of  past 
grandeur — the  family  plate.  His  substantial  emolu- 
ment was,  however,  insufficient  to  keep  up  his  house  in 
South  Kensington  and  dress  his  daughters  becomingly; 
so  that,  when  the  necessary  concessions  had  been  made  to 
appearance,  there  was  scarcely  enough  left  to  garnish 
the  silver  plate  with  bread  and  butter.  They  had  been 
frightfully  pinched,  and  Constance  had  at  last  rebelled 
and  gone  on  the  stage.  She  had  dreamed  of  helping  her 
sisters  by  some  fabulous  success  on  her  part,  but  her 
father  was  so  put  out  that  he  had  never  forgiven  her. 
So  now,  to  avoid  unpleasantness,  she  preferred  to  live 
in  lodgings  whenever  she  came  back  to  London. 

"  Poor  devil !  "  said  Preston. 

"  Yes,  I  fancy  she  has  given  up  her  fabulous  dreams 
by  now." 

"  Oh,  I  wasn't  thinking  of  her,"  corrected  Preston. 
"  It  was  the  father  that  elicited  my  pity.  She  must 
annoy  him  as  much  as  I  annoy  my  brothers,  so  I  can 
feel  for  him." 


THE  BACHELOR  37 

"  As  usual  we  take  opposite  sides.  Our  friendship  is 
built  up  on  non-agreement." 

"  Well,"  pronounced  Preston  after  a  moment's  pause ; 
"  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  let  you  run  after  the  shining, 
aspiring  eyes  to-morrow.  My  own  are  less  attractive 
and  so  must  wait  till  half-past  seven." 

The  appointment  was  definitely  arranged. 

"  And  now  I  want  you  to  give  me  some  money,"  sug- 
gested Hubert  just  as  they  were  about  to  go  out.  "  I 
have  another  case  on  hand." 

"  Oh,  all  right,"  said  Preston  cheerfully.  He  took 
out  his  purse  and  emptied  it  on  to  the  table.  "  There 
are  a  couple  of  guineas  at  least,  only  you  pay  for  re- 
freshments if  we  happen  to  get  hungry." 

Hubert  counted  the  money  methodically.  "  Three 
pounds  one  and  ninepence  halfpenny,"  he  announced. 
"  With  the  five  guineas  promised  me  by  Lady  Wycliffe, 
I  shall  have  more  than  the  twenty  pounds  needed." 

"  Another  case  of  shining,  aspiring  eyes,  and,  I  sup- 
pose, another  tete-a-tete  soon." 

"  I  have  promised  to  call  for  her  cheque  the  day 
after  to-morrow." 

"  Though  you  disapprove  of  aristocracy,  you  make 
the  best  possible  use  of  it,"  laughed  Preston.  "  After 
the  pitched  battle  between  you,  she  wanted  me  to  bring 
you  to  St.  James's  Square,  but  I  told  her  I  wasn't  going 
to  take  the  responsibility  of  presenting  you  to  hereditary 
nobility.  So,  being  strong-minded,  she  wrote  to  you 
herself." 

Preston  went  on  to  ask  if  he  had  seen  her  during 
his  absence.  Hubert  had  not  repeated  his  first  visit, 
though  he  had  taken  Lady  Wycliffe  at  her  word  that  he 
might  use  her  purse  occasionally  for  his  charities.  He 
had  found  her,  he  said,  a  charming  and  gentle-mannered 
old  lady  who  frankly  regretted  she  had  had  the  temerity 
to  enter  the  lists  against  him,  not  because  she  hadn't  a 
good  case,  but  that  she  was  not  its  worthy  exponent. 


38  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

As  to  her  reputation  for  being  intellectual,  her  conver- 
sation certainly  showed  a  wide  range  of  reflection;  but 
she  was  swayed  too  much  by  sentiment  and  personal 
preference  to  be  able  to  think  coolly,  though  her  pleasant 
humility  struck  him  as  not  insincere.  Hubert  added 
that  she  had  made  him  suspect  she  did  not  at  heart 
believe  in  the  reality  of  his  democracy,  despite  the  al- 
most passionate  vigour  of  his  reply  to  her  sentimental 
defence  of  caste  in  The  Red  Review. 

"  That  is  probably  the  truth,"  said  Preston.  "  She 
was  delighted  when  she  found  I  knew  you,  for,  in  spite 
of  all  your  hard  blows,  she  felt  you  were  a  gentleman, 
she  said.  And  she  simply  cannot  understand  any  one 
she  likes  holding  ideas  that  are  '  not  nice.'  Not  that  she 
minds  your  putting  forward  theories  that  are  not  to  her 
taste;  but,  if  she  likes  you,  she  doesn't  like  to  feel  that 
they  represent  convictions,  that  they  are  rooted  in  the 
blood.  She  is,  in  fact,  a  woman  with  whom  you  may 
talk  intimately  every  day  for  a  whole  year,  compli- 
menting yourself  on  her  sympathetic  comprehension ; 
yet,  at  the  end  of  that  time,  you  will  discover,  to  your 
surprise,  that,  to  build  up  her  conception  of  you,  she  has 
only  chosen  such  aspects  of  you  as  pleased  her.  She 
will  not  have  heard  a  word,  apparently,  of  your  most 
cherished  convictions — no  matter  how  you  may  have 
insisted  on  them — unless  she  fancies  they  suit  you.  Try 
as  you  may  to  undeceive  her,  she  will  go  her  own  way 
and  believe  about  you  only  what  she  finds  it  agreeable 
to  believe.  I'm  afraid  she's  a  hopeless  sentimentalist, 
though  wonderfully  kind-hearted.  She  will  live  up  to 
her  shining,  aspiring  eyes  to  the  end  of  the  chapter." 

"  Nevertheless  one  can't  help  respecting  her,"  said 
Hubert,  "  if  only  her  sincerity  of  intention." 

"  I  respect  her  for  other  reasons,  too,"  said  Preston. 
"  She  is  one  of  the  very  few  people  who  have  a  great 
admiration  for  Robert  Preston.  There  must  be  more  in 
her  than  I  myself  think.  I  first  swam  into  her  favour 


THE  BACHELOR  39 

by  explaining,  apropos  of  flirtation,  that  the  word 
'  coquet '  etymologically  meant  '  to  strut  about  like  a 
cock  on  a  dunghill.'  That  seemed  to  please  her.  I  may 
warn  you  that,  though  she's  a  grandmother  now,  she 
sometimes  gives  herself  quite  flirtatious  airs." 

"  I  think  I  shall  like  her  tremendously  all  the  same," 
said  Hubert.  "  And  I  dare  say  she  has  a  real  intuitive 
appreciation  of  you.  Nobody  could  of  course  under- 
stand you." 

"  I  am  not  a  very  great  mystery.  I  am  merely  a 
wise  person,  who,  regularly,  as  bedtime  approaches, 
feels  himself  full  of  splendid  energy,  and  begins  to  doubt 
whether  there  may  not  be  something  in  ambition  after 
all." 

"  And  what  happens  in  the  morning?  "  asked  Hubert. 

"  Splendid  energy  only  comes  on  at  bedtime,  happily. 
In  the  morning  I  meditate  affectionately  on  my  fortune, 
and  repeat  to  myself  the  allegory  of  the  three  men, 
who,  like  myself,  perceived  the  world  to  be  pure  folly. 
The  first  became  a  hermit  and  botanized;  the  second, 
laughing  in  his  heart,  put  on  a  grave  face  and  a  long 
beard,  watched  the  seething,  foolish  spectacle,  and 
adroitly  extracted  millions  from  its  madness — with 
branch  offices  in  every  capital;  whilst  the  third,  poor 
fellow,  committed  suicide.  All  three  made  donkeys  of 
themselves,  but  then  they  hadn't  three  thousand  a  year 
to  begin  with — like  me !  And  now,  old  man,  I  think  I've 
dragged  you  far  enough.  Please  lend  me  a  shilling  for 
a  cab-fare." 


HOUGH  such  a  long  interval  had  elapsed  since 
he  had  last  heard  from  Miss  Powers,  Hubert, 
whenever  he  had  chanced  to  think  of  her,  had 
nevertheless  felt  sure  she  would  turn  up 
again.  In  a  universe  of  unpredictable  contingencies  here 
was  at  least  one  certainty.  "  Won't  you  come  for  your 
annual  cup  of  tea  ?  "  was  the  present  humourous  re- 
minder of  her  existence,  written  from  an  address  some- 
where in  Pimlico. 

He  found  her  in  a  ground-floor  sitting-room,  which 
contrived  to  look  furnished,  yet  did  not  violently  suggest 
"  lodgings."  There  were  basket-chairs  and  quiet  cre- 
tonne curtains;  but  the  walls  held  neither  paper  fans 
nor  gaudy  plates  nor  horrible  pictures,  while  neat  matting 
took  the  place  of  the  usual  dingy  carpet.  He  noticed 
at  once  that  Miss  Powers  had  strangely  altered.  She 
looked  certainly  older,  what  with  the  suspicion  of  lines 
at  the  corners  of  her  mouth,  but  that  was  not  the  chief 
thing.  There  was,  in  fact,  something  about  her  that 
puzzled  him.  In  one  light  she  seemed  repressed  and 
sobered,  and  her  large  eyes  shone  with  a  sort  of  gentle 
pathos  as  if  beseeching  kindness.  And  yet  an  unmis- 
takable contentment  radiated  from  her,  quiet  and  deep 
and  strong.  Her  greeting  was,  as  usual,  enthusiastic. 

"  I  know  what  you  are  thinking,"  she  exclaimed,  as, 
at  her  bidding,  he  took  his  seat  on  a  chintz-covered  sofa ; 
"  that  I'm  looking  so  much  more  angelic  than  ever 
before." 

"  True,"  he  laughed.  "  All  your  bitterness  must 
have  got  transmuted,  in  the  crucible  of  your  nature,  into 
pure  sweetness." 

40 


THE  BACHELOR  41 

"  All  my  bitterness !  Oh,  yes,  I  remember.  What 
a  born  grumbler  you  must  think  me !  I'm  disgusted 
with  myself,  always  reserving  my  lamentations  for  you." 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  protested ;  "  I  take  that  as  a  compli- 
ment." 

"  I  hope  you're  not  expecting  more  of  that  kind  of 
compliment." 

"  No,  indeed,"  he  assured  her.  "  I  do  not  take  so 
pessimistic  a  view  of  your  existence." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said  gravely,  as  she  set  a  small 
kettle  over  a  spirit-lamp.  There  was  a  touch  of  mystic 
softness  in  her  voice,  an  undertone  of  self-caress,  which 
Hubert  had  heard  in  the  voices  of  happy  women. 

"  I  am  in  hopes,  indeed,  that  you  have  been  having 
much  more  agreeable  times  of  late,"  he  continued. 

"  Perfectly  delightful  times !  "  she  assured  him ;  "  but 
why  do  you  look  so  astonished?  " 

"  You  seem  so  extraordinarily  contented  with  ex- 
istence." 

"  Existence  is  worth  it ! "  she  flaunted. 

He  had  in  the  past  been  wont  to  indulge  before  her 
in  a  little  playful  cynicism,  to  which  she,  on  her  part, 
had  always  listened  with  sad  approval.  But  to-day  her 
attitude  seemed  to  have  reversed  itself  entirely.  Half 
to  tease  her,  half  to  discover  what  good  fortune  was 
hers,  he  set  about  regaling  her  with  one  or  two  mournful 
generalizations. 

"  Your  liver's  out  of  order,  and  I'm  not  going  to 
argue  with  you,"  she  returned  calmly. 

She  continued  to  stand  over  her  kettle,  dividing  her 
attentions  between  that  and  the  conversation.  And 
persistently  she  refused  to  take  him  seriously,  till  at 
last,  unable  to  check  him  otherwise,  she  caught  up  a 
ball  of  twine  that  lay  near  at  hand  and  threw  it  at  him. 
He  caught  it  neatly,  and  it  seemed  to  bring  illumination. 

"  Who  has  been  falling  in  love  with  you?  "  he  asked. 

She  laughed  and  reddened.     "  How  clever  of  you  to 


42  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

guess !  And  now  I  suppose  you'd  like  to  hear  all 
about  it." 

They  looked  at  each  other  and  both  laughed. 

"  Certainly — if  you  care  to  tell  me,"  he  said. 

From  his  previous  talks  with  her  he  knew  she  was 
on  good  terms  with  ever  so  many  men,  all  more  or  less 
connected  with  her  own  profession.  Hubert  bunched 
them  all  together — they  formed  rather  a  phantasmal 
crowd  in  his  mind;  though,  when  one  of  them  had  once 
appeared  unexpectedly,  he  proved  to  be  substantial 
enough — a  stout,  cleanshaven,  somewhat  Napoleonic 
person,  whom  Miss  Powers  introduced  as  Mr.  Richard 
Plantagenet.  He  wore  "  locks  "  instead  of  hair,  pos- 
sessed a  smooth,  vigorous  tongue  and  anti-democratic 
opinions,  and  suggested  lessons  in  elocution,  recitations 
at  evening  parties,  and,  somewhere  in  the  universe,  a 
wife  living  separated  from  him. 

"  Of  course  I  want  to  tell  you,"  she  exclaimed.  "  You 
are  such  a  lovely  Father  Confessor.  That's  why  I  liked 
you  at  first  sight." 

"  So  that's  the  role  I've  been  playing ! " 

"  Oh,  you're  a  dear  old  Father,  you  never  lecture 
severely.  .  .  .  I'm  flattering  you,  because  otherwise 
one  couldn't  be  sure  of  your  clemency.  You're  not  suf- 
ficiently susceptible  to  pretty  women." 

She  threw  out  the  last  words  with  conviction,  as  if 
she  had  been  secretly  annoyed  all  along  at  his  never 
having  fallen  in  love  with  her,  and  as  if,  even  in  her 
happiness,  she  could  not  forgive  him  for  having  failed 
to  pay  her  this  supreme  compliment. 

"  The  pretty  women  have  scarcely  shown  themselves 
susceptible  to  me." 

"  How  stupid  of  them ! "  She  could  be  bolder  now 
that  she  could  not  be  suspected  of  setting  her  cap  at 
him.  "  But  let  us  get  on  to  the  confession." 

His  name  was  William,  she  explained,  and  he  was 
a  young  actor  into  whose  society  she  had  been  thrown 


THE  BACHELOR  43 

on  the  tour  that  had  just  ended.  He  was  really  a  clever 
fellow,  much  too  good  for  the  Provinces,  as  his  acting 
had  shown  the  other  men  up  as  a  set  of  amateurs. 
Moreover,  he  was  a  gentleman  through  and  through — 
in  his  every  thought  and  feeling,  in  his  preferences  and 
repugnances,  in  what  he  tolerated  and  what  he  dis- 
dained. His  face  was  the  face  of  a  god,  she  declared; 
his  eyes  were  sweet  and  full  of  mystery.  Such  a  won- 
derful boy  had  at  once  fascinated  her,  and  it  was  quite 
incomprehensible  that  he  should  ever  have  thought  of 
caring  for  her — and  caring  with  all  his  heart  and  soul 
and  might ! 

She  paused  to  brood  greedily  over  this  miraculous 
fact.  Just  then  the  kettle  boiled  noisily. 

She  laughed  with  a  child's  eager  gaiety.  "  I  was 
almost  forgetting  about  that."  She  bustled  about  on 
£he  tips  of  her  toes,  humming  softly  to  herself.  Soon 
she  had  scalded  the  leaves. 

"  Your  tea  is  most  excellent,"  pronounced  Hubert 
presently.  "  William  is  really  a  lucky  fellow." 

"  I  can  cook  as  well,"  she  proclaimed  proudly.  "  And 
I'm  a  careful  housekeeper.  On  tour  one  learns  the 
value  of  every  penny." 

"  It  is  not  generally  suspected  that  touring  affords 
so  domestic  a  training." 

"  That  depends  upon  the  individual,"  she  explained, 
overlooking  his  smile.  "  If  one  has  the  gift  of  domes- 
ticity one  can  manage  to  exercise  it." 

"  This,  I  presume,  is  a  preliminary  experiment  in 
housekeeping?  "  he  inquired,  indicating  the  room  gen- 
erally. 

"  Not  exactly  an  experiment."  Her  face  saddened 
a  little.  "  It  is  more  of  a  speculation.  .  .  .  Of  course 
you  don't  understand.  Well,  I  made  a  great  fool  of 
myself  soon  after  I  last  saw  you.  In  short,  I  threw 
up  a  rather  nice  engagement  to  take  out  a  company  of 
my  own." 


44  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

He  raised  his  eyebrows.     "  As  a  capitalist  ?  " 

"  I  hadn't  five  pounds  of  my  own,  but  a  girl  who  had 
a  hundred  put  the  idea  into  my  head  and  persuaded 
me  to  borrow  her  money.  She  was  anxious  to  get  into 
the  profession,  and  she  was  to  share  the  profits.  I  ended 
by  booking  a  tour,  giving  her  a  part,  and  losing  all  the 
money.  .  .  .  And  then  there  were  debts!  .  .  .  My 
heart  was  crushed.  I  nearly  went  mad  with  worry. 
I  have  been  paying  instalments  ever  since,  and,  of  course, 
I  mean  to  pay  every  penny.  But  the  girl  was  horrid ! 
Luckily  I  got  work,  though  only  after  a  terrible  interval. 
Her  abusive  letters  kept  following  me  all  over  the 
country." 

"  The  homage  of  William  was  a  consolation,  no 
doubt!" 

"  Those  letters  hurt  me  more  than  I  can  tell  you. 
But  I  wouldn't  breathe  a  word  to  William  about  all 
these  troubles.  You  may  think  that  was  wrong  of  me, 
but  I  felt  it  would  be  a  crime  to  sadden  him — he  is 
always  so  cheerful  and  happy.  However,  to  explain 
my  speculation.  I  lived  in  this  very  house  immediately 
after  the  breakdown.  I  starved  in  fact  for  several 
weeks  in  a  back-room  upstairs." 

"  You  horrify  me ! "  exclaimed  Hubert. 

"  I  had  to  pawn  everything  to  pay  the  rent,  and  I 
don't  think  I  spent  sixpence  a  day  on  food.  Worse 
than  all,  that  horrible  girl  kept  calling  and  making  my 
life  miserable.  She  could  see  quite  well  that  I  wasn't 
able  to  get  a  proper  meal,  whereas  she  had  a  comfortable 
home." 

"  Why  not  have  gone  back  to  your  family?  " 

"  And  confessed  myself  beaten !  I  would  rather  have 
died!" 

"  Why  did  you  not  think  of  writing  to  me?  "  he  asked 
meaningly. 

Tears  came  into  her  eyes.     "  But  I  was  already  in 


THE  BACHELOR  45 

debt  quite  enough,"  she  cried ;  "  and  I  would  have  taken 
poison  sooner  than  borrow  another   penny." 

"  How  you  must  have  suffered !  " 

"  How  awful  of  me  always  to  be  harrowing  your 
feelings !  But,  as  I  told  you  just  now,  my  luck  changed. 
I  got  a  fairly  good  part  and " 

"  You  got  William." 

"  I  got  William,"  she  repeated,  smiling.  "  And  when 
I  came  back  to  London  last  week  I  went  in  for  this 
domestic  speculation.  Four  rooms  were  to  be  had  here 
a  bargain.  With  a  little  thought  and  a  very  small  out- 
lay I  managed  to  make  them  quite  presentable.  Already 
I  have  let  the  floor  up-stairs  to  a  married  couple,  friends 
of  mine,  and  I  have  another  tenant  for  this  floor  ready 
to  come  in  as  soon  as  I  am  off  again.  Willie  and  I  are 
trying  to  keep  together  this  coming  tour,  and  I  hope 
to  clear  my  debts  from  the  profits  of  the  speculation." 

"  So  all  promises  to  end  like  a  fairy  tale." 

"  I  am  happy,"  she  murmured  dreamily. 

*'  It's  really  quite  refreshing  to  find  the  course  of 
true  love  run  smooth,"  he  observed. 

"  The  course  of  true  love  never  runs  smooth,"  she 
declared  with  amusing  sudden  lugubriousness. 

"  What !  more  troubles !  "  He  could  not  help  laugh- 
ing aloud,  and  she  joined  in  with  him. 

"  First  there's  Willie's  family,"  she  explained ;  "  and 
then  there's  my  family.  When  my  mother  first  heard 
of  the  engagement  she  exclaimed :  '  What !  my  daughter 
marry  an  actor ! '  and  when  Willie's  mother  was  in- 
formed of  the  same  event  she  called  out :  '  What  my  son 
marry  an  actress ! '  Willie's  father  is  a  solid  West  India 
merchant,  and  has  a  solid  Philistine  stronghold  in  North 
Kensington.  Though  Willie  went  on  the  stage  against 
his  people's  wishes,  he  still  lives  at  home  when  in  London. 
He  does  it  to  please  his  mother,  who  hopes  to  influence 
him  against  all  things  theatrical,  including  myself. 


46  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

Their  feeling  against  me  is  very  strong,  in  fact ;  but,  as 
Willie  was  always  a  bit  of  a  darling,  they  do  not  display 
it  in  any  noisy  fashion.  All  the  same  they  try  to  make 
him  understand  its  reality.  If  he  marries  me,  he  will 
not  be  helped  '  to  support  me,'  as  they  say.  I  went 
there  to  tea  last  Sunday  (he  insisted  on  their  asking 
me)  and  they  were  just  frigidly  pleasant  to  me.  They 
believe  in  their  hearts  that  his  '  fancy '  for  me,  as  they 
call  it,  will  soon  pass — with  the  help  of  a  little  judicious 
managing  on  their  part.  But,  of  course,  Willie  will 
never  give  me  up — never,  never !  " 

Constance  went  on  to  speak  of  their  plans.  They 
would  probably  be  marrying  about  the  end  of  the  year, 
by  which  time  she  expected  to  be  clear  of  debt.  She 
referred  to  the  modest  future  before  them  with  quiet 
enthusiasm.  Neither  Willie  nor  she  cared  about  any 
other  aspect  of  the  case  than  the  purest  and  truest. 
They  had  found  each  other  helpful  single,  and  they 
believed  they  would  find  each  other  still  more  helpful 
if  they  joined  their  lives  together.  Willie  preferred 
not  to  be  receiving  anything  from  his  family — they  were 
both  satisfied  to  face  the  world  hand-in-hand,  and  work 
together.  They  would  need  very  little;  for  would  not 
their  real  happiness  depend  on  what  he  was  to  her  and 
she  to  him?  Of  their  material  prospects  she  was  thus 
taking  a  strictly  common-sense  view.  Now  that  she  was 
twenty-six,  she  had  more  sense  than  when  she  had  left 
home  some  seven  years  ago.  Then  she  was  conceited, 
had  thought  her  talents  could  achieve  anything.  But 
that  had  long  since  been  knocked  out  of  her.  Her  own 
demands  on  the  world  had  been  steadily  reduced.  If 
ever  she  got  her  lucky  chance  and  did  make  some 
money,  she  would,  of  course,  be  glad — if  only  for  the 
sake  of  her  sisters,  who  were  boring  themselves  to 
death. 

"  I  wish  you  happiness  with  all  my  heart !  "  exclaimed 


THE  BACHELOR  47 

Hubert  at  parting.  "  You  are  a  brave  girl,  and  life 
ought  to  be  kind  to  you." 

Her  eyes  glistened  tearfully.  "  One  cannot  be  happy 
till  one  has  learned  how,  and  for  that  one  must  suffer. 
So  I  do  not  regret  my  experiences.  It  has  done  me 
good  to  tell  you  everything,  and  I  know  you  did  not 
mind  listening.  Of  course  you  forgive  me  for  throwing 
that  at  you,"  she  added  smilingly,  as  she  caught  sight 
just  then  of  the  ball  of  twine. 

"  Provided  you  ask  me  to  the  wedding,"  he  stipulated. 


VI 

JT  yUBERT  appreciated  his  evening  at  Preston's 
t  m  rooms  even  more  than  usual.  Despite  the 
jf_  _M  few  things  in  the  universe  about  which  they 
were  in  agreement,  he  was  always  touched 
by  his  friend's  affection,  and  unfailingly  entertained 
by  his  whimsical  dartings-about  between  convoluted 
philosophy  (when  he  was  head-splitting)  and  bare-faced 
scandal  (when  he  became  side-splitting).  Hubert  felt, 
in  fact,  that  Preston  was  a  boundless  resource;  and,  if 
life  would  not  go  as  one  wanted,  here,  at  least,  was  a 
pleasant  alleviation  by  the  way.  To  look  forward  to  the 
quiet  weeks  in  Flintshire  raised  his  spirits  immensely. 
The  stimulation  of  Preston's  companionship  lasted 
well  over  the  next  day,  and  Hubert  was  perfectly  cheer- 
ful, when,  at  St.  James's  Square,  he  was  ushered  through 
a  perspective  of  drawing-rooms,  past  a  veritable  museum 
of  art  treasures,  to  a  charming  habitable  nest  at  the  very 
end.  Lady  Wycliffe  was  quite  alone,  as  she  had  prom- 
ised him  in  her  letter,  and  he  could  not  doubt  that  the 
pleasure  she  expressed  at  seeing  him  again  was  entirely 
sincere.  She  was  wonderfully  fresh  despite  her  fifty- 
six  years,  but  her  hair  was  altogether  white,  crowning 
the  high  forehead  with  a  stately  ridge.  Her  features 
were  firm  and  clear,  with  a  style  and  character  of  their 
own,  and  her  rather  deep-set  eyes  shone  out  with  a  be- 
witching suggestion  of  her  far-off  youth.  Her  voice, 
too,  was  soft  and  charming,  and  she  spoke  on  serious 
topics  in  so  winsome  a  manner  that  it  was  no  wonder 
Hubert  (though  not  without  amusement)  had  felt  him- 
self at  a  disadvantage  at  their  first  encounter  in  person. 
It  was  all  very  well  her  considerately  insisting  he  must 

48 


THE  BACHELOR  49 

put  chivalrous  feeling  aside,  and  meet  her  only  on 
grounds  of  pure  reason,  that  the  gallantry  she  appre- 
ciated most  was  to  be  treated  as  an  intelligent  person; 
but  how  strike  ruthlessly  at  what  was  dear  to  this  gentle, 
sympathetic  woman  (who  had  so  evidently  conceived 
an  immediate  liking  for  him),  and  calmly  make  her 
wince,  or  watch  the  pained  or  horrified  expression  sweep 
across  her  face  each  moment!  This  was  not  at  all  the 
same  thing  as  their  previous  antagonism  at  a  distance 
in  the  pages  of  The  Red  Review,  when  he  could  sharpen 
his  quill  pen  remorselessly,  and,  even  on  the  proof-sheets, 
add  point  to  his  thrusts.  He  had  smiled  inwardly,  feel- 
ing it  was  impossible  to  get  her  to  face  cool  analysis; 
though,  in  her  way,  she  was  undoubtedly  clever,  ready 
to  smile  at  a  jest,  and  possessing  a  humour  of  her  own. 
Happily  the  conversation  had  at  length  moved  away 
from  controversy,  and  soon  she  had  been  warmed  back 
from  what  had  been  perilously  near  annoyance  into  an 
almost  overflowing  friendliness. 

To-day  he  found  her  in  a  complimentary  mood.  She 
liked  to  feel  herself  thinking  after  a  conversation,  she 
said,  and  he  had  made  her  think  a  great  deal — most 
of  all  about  the  ideas  he  had  thrown  out  lightly. 
"  There  were  things  that  only  made  me  smile  at  the 
time,  but  afterwards  I  saw  there  were  really  depths. 
And  you  were  never  in  the  least  cross  at  my  seeing  only 
the  humour." 

"  A  man  often  puts  laughingly  that  about  which  he 
doesn't  laugh  at  all  in  his  own  heart,"  suggested  Hubert, 
a  little  shamefaced  at  this  sudden  caressing  admiration 
of  hers,  implied  even  more  by  tone  than  by  words. 
"  There  is  some  instinct  which  urges  us  to  turn  every- 
thing off  with  a  smile.  Perhaps  it  is  only  good  breed- 
ing insisting  on  a  pleasant  covering." 

Lady  Wycliffe  considered.  "  It  is  true  there  is  some 
instinct  which  makes  us  ashamed  of  our  serious  emo- 
tions. But  is  not  the  real  reason  that  we  shrink,  even 


50  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

in  thought,  from  the  sneers  of  people  we  ought  to  de- 
spise, and  so  grow  into  accepting  their  standard?  " 

"  Or  is  it  not  rather  that  we  think  those  emotions  too 
sacred  to  be  displayed  at  all,"  he  suggested,  not  yet 
perceiving  her  subtle  drift. 

"  Whatever  the  cause,  we  certainly  get  into  a  bad 
habit  of  restraint — even  with  those  exceptionally  ap- 
preciative." 

He  felt  now  this  was  a  direct  shot  at  him,  the  more 
so  as  he  had  an  almost  guilty  remembrance  that,  on 
the  last  occasion,  he  had  been  guardedly  impersonal  in 
his  conversation.  All  the  same  he  preferred  to  remain 
so  to-day. 

"  The  theatre  may  be  also  responsible,  at  least  to 
some  extent,"  he  suggested  further.  He  found  himself 
clutching  desperately  at  the  first  train  of  thought  that 
occurred  to  him.  Anything  apropos  would  serve  to 
ward  off  her  threatened  too  intimate  interest  in  him. 

His  remark,  being  so  unexpected,  made  her  laugh. 

Hubert  explained.  The  human  drama,  as  displayed 
on  the  stage,  had  made  people  uneasily  self-conscious. 
Emotions  and  actions  in  real  life  beyond  a  certain 
strength  had  come  to  be  considered  "  theatrical."  Peo- 
ple became  imbued  with  a  horror  of  any  "  scene  "  in 
real  life,  and  thus  real  life  having  receded  from  stage 
level,  the  stage  had  been  left  bare  of  reality.  "  A  few 
modern  playwrights  have  been  pursuing  us  in  their 
efforts  after  true  presentation,  but  we  keep  shrinking 
away  from  them.  Thus  their  work,  in  the  attempt  to 
catch  us  up,  has  become  so  subtle  and  attenuated  that 
plain  folk  have  to  go  back  to  melodrama  for  their 
amusement." 

This  fanciful  exposition  was  more  in  Preston's  vein 
than  his  own,  as  he  was  smilingly  aware  the  whole  time. 

"  How  ingenious !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  But  are  there 
any  such  modern  playwrights — subtle  and  attenuated?  " 

"  If  there  aren't,  there  ought  to  be,"  he  declared. 


THE  BACHELOR  61 

"  What  right  have  playwrights  not  to  fit  in  with  my 
argument  ?  " 

"  Now  you're  making  fun  of  me."  She  pretended  to 
look  distressed.  "  But  even  that's  better  than  the 
shameful  way  you  treated  me  in  your  reply  to  my 
article,"  she  added  in  half-playful  reproach,  as  if  to 
say,  "  Do  I  look  as  if  I  deserve  it?  " 

"  But  I'm  less  afraid  of  you  now,"  she  resumed ;  "  for 
I  don't  believe  now  that  you  know  me  you  would  ever 
try  to  prove  me  a  fraud  again.  How  can  a  clever  man 
like  you  believe  that  the  aristocracy  are  all  humbugs ! 
It's  too  awful !  " . 

"But  I  don't  believe  that,"  began  Hubert;  where- 
upon, with  great  joy,  she  swooped  down  quickly  on  that 
denial,  uninterested  in  any  explanation  that  might 
modify  its  apparent  absoluteness. 

"  I  am  much  relieved,"  she  exclaimed.  "  I  confess  I 
made  up  my  mind  to  draw  you  out  really,  and  I'm  so 
glad  now."  She  clapped  her  hands  with  all  the  fresh 
glee  of  a  young  girl. 

She  looked  quite  happy,  and  Hubert  knew,  both  from 
his  own  former  experience  and  from  what  Preston  had 
told  him,  that  it  would  be  perfectly  useless  to  attempt 
to  make  her  grasp  his  real  views,  already  more  than 
adequately  presented  in  the  article  that  had  vexed  her. 
He  was  forced,  indeed,  to  listen  to  the  repetition  of  a 
great  part  of  her  own  article;  for,  to  follow  up  her 
advantage,  she  descanted  at  full  length  on  what  the 
aristocracy  meant  to  the  country,  on  its  high  standard 
of  honour  and  bravery,  on  its  unflinching  devotion  to 
duty.  She  spoke  charmingly,  with  conviction  and  elo- 
quence, her  face  afire  with  seriousness  and  high  purpose. 
He  let  the  glow  burn  itself  out.  "  Well,"  was  her  chal- 
lenge, as,  breathless,  she  came  to  a  halt  at  last ;  "  what 
can  possibly  be  said  against  all  that  ?  " 

"  What  I  have  already  said,"  he  was  constrained  to 
remind  her. 


52  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

"  I  spoke  from  my  heart ;  you  only  from  your  brain. 
Thought  is  not  everything.  We  are  human  beings  first 
and  thinkers  after.  I  want  to  know  you  as  a  human 
being,  not  merely  as  a  mind.  I  am  sure  a  man  like  you 
must  be  unhappy,  if  only  because  you  think  too  much 
and  give  too  little  heed  to  your  heart." 

She  evidently  meant  to  persist  in  "  drawing  him  out " 
in  spite  of  his  constant  evasion.  His  ever- watchful 
instinct  of  reserve  was  inclined  for  a  moment  to  assert 
itself  in  even  stronger  opposition.  He  must  make  her 
perceive  that  this  ground  was  distasteful  to  him.  She 
saw  some  change  in  his  face. 

"  Forgive  me,"  she  murmured.  "  Perhaps  I  was  too 
impulsive,  but  I  did  not  mean  to  be  imprudent  or  in- 
quisitive." 

He  was  touched  by  her  concern,  and  annoyed  at 
having  to  fence  with  her  to  keep  her  from  coming  to 
too  close  quarters.  She  was  truly  an  admirable  woman, 
he  told  himself,  full  of  refined  sensibilities.  If  she  had 
sought  to  strike  the  intimate  note,  her  desire  had  been 
only  to  strengthen  their  friendliness. 

He  disclaimed  any  dissatisfaction  with  her.  "  I  was 
thinking  how  far  your  surmise  was  from  the  truth. 
Indeed  it  is !  " 

"  I  repeat  my  impulsiveness  came  from  my  heart. 
Grant  that  my  surmise  was  wrong — though  you  must 
forgive  me  if  I  still  believe  you  don't  appreciate  the 
point  sufficiently.  For  instance,  you  never  seem  to  speak 
of  yourself.  I  want  to  know  you  better — really 
to  know  you.  Explain  yourself ! "  she  commanded 
laughingly. 

With  such  a  direct  attack  poor  Hubert  began  to  find 
the  defence  difficult. 

"  There  is  very  little  to  explain.  I  don't  know  I  am 
precisely  the  unhappy  person  you  surmise  me  to  be; 
if  I  am,  I  accept  the  fact  as  good-humouredly  as  pos- 
sible. You  see  I  lead  a  studious  life  in  my  leisure,  and  I 


THE  BACHELOR  53 

think  that  as  good  a  way  of  getting  through  one's  days 
as  any  other." 

"  Getting  through  one's  days !  What  a  hideous 
phrase!  One  ought  not  to  feel  one's  life  in  that  way. 
It  shows  there  is  something  wrong.  You  live  alone  in 
those  dreadful  chambers  in  the  Temple.  How  desolate ! 
The  thought  makes  me  shudder."  She  spoke  with  real 
maternal  solicitude. 

"  The  Temple's  not  such  a  bad  place,"  he  protested. 

"  It's  a  bad  place  for  you,"  she  retorted.  "  A  man  like 
you  ought  to  have  married.  I  may  talk  to  you  like  this 
—I  am  an  old  woman.  No  gallantry  please, — I  repeat 
I  am  an  old  woman,  and  you  are  a  man  to  whom  one 
may  talk.  Either  something  has  happened  in  your  life 
to  sadden  you — of  course  you  take  it  good-naturedly — 
or  you  are  wilfully  spoiling  your  existence.  In  either 
case  you  ought  to  reconsider  matters.  You  are  in  the 
prime  of  life — you  ought  certainly  to  marry  at  once,  to 
have  children.  There!  I've  said  it  all,  and  now  I  am 
breathlessly  awaiting  your  anger  at  my  presumption." 

He  smiled  reassuringly,  so  far  won  over  as  to  be 
debating  within  himself  whether  it  was  possible  to  reveal 
the  unhappy  circumstances  with  which  he  had  to  wrestle. 
He  was  tempted,  but  he  resisted.  To  what  good  drag 
up  the  story  of  those  dead  times,  of  his  brother's  mar- 
riage, of  his  own  struggles,  of  his  estrangement  from 
his  mother !  The  impulse  to  pour  himself  out  died  away, 
and  he  again  found  himself  evading  her  with  general- 
ities. 

'  You  recommend  marriage  so  warmly,  because  the 
idea  of  marriage  is  full  of  charm  to  the  on-looker.  It  is, 
in  fact,  hard  to  avoid  conceiving  it  save  with  all  its 
aesthetic  and  romantic  associations ;  and,  for  the  moment, 
we  are  deceived  into  imagining  the  beauty  and  romance 
which  is  in  our  own  conception  to  be  really  in  the  actual 
fact.  The  colour  of  history  is  a  good  example  of  such  a 
purely  aesthetic  synthesis,  for  it  exists  only  for  the  eye 


54  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

of  the  on-looker.  In  the  same  way  a  cathedral  choir 
may  be  divine  as  felt  by  a  reverent  listener;  the  boys 
within  it  may  be  bickering  over  surreptitious  stick-jaw, 
or  speculating  about  the  coming  fisticuffs  between  two 
of  them.  A  humourist  often  gets  his  opportunities  by 
digging  into  the  internal  reality  of  some  of  our  fine 
cherished  syntheses.  He  takes  us  by  surprise,  and  we 
laugh.  Thus  it  is  with  marriage.  The  reality  takes  us 
by  surprise — and  we  weep !  " 

"  Ah,  I  see  what  it  is ! "  she  exclaimed,  shaking  a 
coquettish  finger  at  him ;  "  Your  friend  leads  you  astray ; 
he  has  certainly  a  bad  influence  over  you.  Believe  me, 
marriage  may  be  as  beautiful  a  fact  as  it  is  an  idea, 
and  you  are  a  man  who  can  make  it  so — you  who  are 
able  to  choose  wisely." 

Tempted  to  play  with  the  subject,  Hubert  asked  what 
kind  of  a  woman  she  would  consider  a  wise  choice. 

Lady  Wycliffe  reflected,  and  then  they  set  themselves 
to  elaborate  the  point  together,  she  in  terrible  earnest, 
he  secretly  amused.  A  marvellous  creature  was  evolved 
as  the  result  of  their  concerted  efforts,  a  combination  of 
beauty,  charm,  goodness,  honour,  intellect,  and  refine- 
ment; whereupon  Hubert  was  able  to  prove  with  ease 
that  to  secure  such  a  wife  was  for  him  a  wholly  im- 
practicable matter.  It  depended  on  luck  rather  than  on 
searching  and  endeavour.  For  the  latter  process  life 
was  too  short ;  so  that  if  one  wished  to  avoid  a  marriage 
of  convenience — as  he  did — there  was  nothing  else,  in 
actual  life,  than  a  haphazard  romance,  due  to  the  acci- 
dent of  proximity  or  meeting.  This  absolutely  ex- 
hausted the  alternatives,  and  the  requisite  accident  had 
not  yet  happened  to  him.  By  good  fortune  the  requisite 
accident  might  likewise  prove  to  be  the  lucky  accident, 
and  he  might  marry  just  the  ideal  person;  but  in  any 
case  there  was  distinctly  a  lottery.  He  could  only 
wait  for  marriage  to  happen;  it  was  useless  for  him  to 
move  with  the  deliberate  idea  of  attaining  that  end. 


THE  BACHELOR  55 

And  this  was  considering  the  question  purely  in  its  own 
aspects,  whereas  in  life  there  were  endless  possible  ac- 
companying circumstances  which  might  spoil  even  the 
most  favourable  case.  Nothing  existed  apart,  but  every- 
thing was  rooted  in  the  world  in  some  definite  way ;  and, 
given  the  most  suitable  couple  and  the  deepest  mutual 
attachment,  there  might  still  be  no  marriage.  As  Hu- 
bert had  the  theme  at  his  fingers'  ends,  he  took  a  wicked 
pleasure  in  enlarging  on  it  for  all  it  was  worth,  and 
indulging  in  every  plausible  exaggeration.  Lady  Wy- 
cliffe's  face  grew  sadder  and  sadder.  She  held  up  her 
hands  at  last. 

"  Enough !  "  she  cried.  "  You  have  absolutely  con- 
vinced me  of  the  impossibility  of  marriage.  Still  I  am 
illogical  enough  to  wish  that  the  requisite  accident  and 
the  lucky  accident  had  happened  to  you  ten  years  ago. 
...  I  should  have  loved  your  children,"  she  added 
softly. 

He  was  conquered  for  the  moment.  "  You  are  good," 
he  replied  with  some  emotion,  "  but  the  world  is  the 
world.  Ten  years  ago  marriage  was  the  one  social 
purpose  for  which  I  was  not  eligible." 

Lady  Wycliffe's  face  lighted  up  with  indignation. 
"  But  surely  no  woman  worthy  of  the  name  would  refuse 
a  man  simply  because  she  might  have  to  forego  luxury." 

"  One  must  submit  to  the  facts  as  one  finds  them," 
he  said. 

"  It  is  perfectly  horrible  how  life  is  bound  up  at  every 
point  with  money,"  she  exclaimed.  "  When  one  is  rich 
one  is  in  danger  of  forgetting  that — the  money  ma- 
chinery is  made  to  do  its  work  so  quietly.  I  saw  the 
last  of  my  daughters  married  years  ago — all  three  mar- 
ried wealthy  men,  but  there  was  no  thought  about  the 
money  on  either  side." 

"  You  will  understand  then  how  a  bachelor  like  my- 
self— who  has  to  work — gives  up  the  idea  of  marriage 
altogether." 


56  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  embittered ;  but  of  course  not 
— you  take  everything  good-humouredly,"  she  added, 
smiling. 

He  was  quick  to  seize  the  chance  of  turning  the 
conversation  into  a  lighter  key.  "  If  I  could  go  to  sleep 
for  awhile — after  the  manner  of  Adam — and  wake  up 
ready  married,  well,  I  should  take  that  with  equal  good- 
humour;  provided  the  original  rib  was  still  there,  of 
course.  Getting  married  means  a  frigktful  amount  of 
energy,  and  one  shrinks  from  the  idea  through  sheer 
laziness." 

"  Ah,  so  that's  the  real  truth !  You  take  a  load  off  my 
mind.  You  bachelors  are  lazy,  and  therefore  invent  all 
sorts  of  ingenious  reasons  to  prove  marriage  impossible !  " 

They  both  laughed,  and  the  conversation  somehow 
passed  on  to  less  personal  ground.  Lady  Wycliffe  was 
evidently  enjoying  herself  immensely.  She  was  inter- 
ested in  all  sorts  of  speculations  that  did  not  involve  her 
social  and  political  bias,  and,  once  on  neutral  ground, 
she  displayed  a  keen  and  ready  understanding. 

Nor,  indeed,  did  she  forget  the  pretext  on  which  she 
had  invited  him  to  call  to-day.  She  had  the  cheque 
ready  in  an  envelope,  and  her  passing  it  to  him  naturally 
led  them,  apropos  of  his  beneficiaries,  to  discuss  the 
personal  factor  in  success  and  failure. 

At  that  moment  her  husband  happened  to  come  wan- 
dering along  into  the  room  absent-mindedly.  Hubert 
had  been  pointing  out  that  the  mere  march  of  life 
created  forces  overwhelmingly  larger  than  the  efforts  of 
any  individual,  though  there  were  plenty  of  individuals 
who  were  fortunate  enough  to  have  these  forces  co- 
operate with  them.  Such  people  were  (if  not  unduly 
conceited)  naturally  much  impressed  by  Providence, 
whereas  those  who  were  overborne  through  no  fault  of 
their  own  were  inclined  to  disbelieve  in  Providence  alto- 
gether. In  either  case  the  basis  of  conviction  was  equally 
coarse. 


THE  BACHELOR  57 

Lord  Wycliffe  was  a  sturdy,  white-bearded  figure  of 
sixty-eight,  with  shining,  hearty  features,  bluffly  cordial, 
with  laughter  lurking  always  in  his  throat.  He  had 
obviously  never  known  a  moment's  melancholy  in  his 
life.  He  had  advanced  well  into  the  room  before  he  was 
aware  his  wife  was  entertaining  a  visitor,  and  he  caught 
only  Hubert's  last  sentence.  He  smiled  a  little  uncom- 
fortably. "  Janet  has  got  in  a  devilish  clever-looking 
chap  to  talk  metaphysics  to  her.  I'd  better  get  out  of 
this  boat  as  soon  as  possible,"  was  his  thought. 

However,  he  recognized  Hubert's  name  as  soon  as  it 
was  mentioned,  apologized  for  his  intrusion  on  their 
conversation,  and  chatted  for  a  moment  with  charming 
amiability.  Then  he  stood  about  uneasily,  coughed  once 
or  twice,  and  was  thankful  when  his  wife  gave  him  a  cup 
of  tea,  which,  however,  he  took  with  a  show  of  hesitation, 
alleging  he  was  just  on  the  point  of  hastening  to  a  club 
appointment.  His  acceptance  of  the  tea  inspired  him  to 
remark  that  the  beverage  was  always  refreshing  in  such 
close  weather.  Hadn't  Mr.  Ruthven  found  it  stuffy  in 
the  courts?  He  talked  pleasantly  for  an  instant  about 
the  wonderful  old  judge  before  whom  Hubert  had  argued 
that  day,  and  who  had  been  a  great  friend  of  his  father's. 
Then  with  a  breezy  "  You  won't  think  me  rude,"  he 
shook  hands  and  took  his  leave. 

"  You  will  like  my  husband,"  declared  Lady  Wycliffe. 
"  He  is  so  fond  of  clever  men,  and  I  want  you  both  to  be 
much  better  acquainted."  She  hesitated  a  moment  as  if 
fearing  she  might  be  about  to  challenge  a  rebuff,  then 
asked  him  to  come  and  dine  on  the  Thursday  in  the 
following  week.  Under  the  impression  she  wished  to 
accord  him  a  quiet  opportunity  of  cultivating  Lord 
Wycliffe,  and  knowing  that  his  acceptance  would  give 
her  pleasure,  he  readily  expressed  his  willingness. 

He  was  rewarded  by  the  way  her  face  lighted  up, 
then  presently  was  puzzled  by  some  quick  succession  of 
thoughts  which  he  saw  suggested  in  her  expression,  and 


58  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

which,  he  was  sure,  concerned  himself.  However,  when 
she  spoke  again,  she  merely  went  back  to  the  point  they 
had  been  at  when  her  husband  had  interrupted  them, 
and  it  was  only  at  the  end  when  Hubert  had  risen  that 
she  reverted  to  the  intimate  note. 

"  I  feel  so  sorry  that  your  life  is  not  happier,"  she 
said,  holding  his  hand  affectionately  and  wistfully. 
"  You  must  really  rid  yourself  of  your  laziness,"  she 
added  more  lightly ;  "  and  you  will  soon  find  somebody 
who  is  worthy  of  you.  Why,  if  I  were  a  young  girl,  I 
should  marry  you  myself." 

She  stepped  over  to  the  bell  briskly  and  touched  it. 
"  I  am  so  glad  you  don't  think  me  a  fraud  after  all," 
she  called  to  him  laughingly  as  he  smiled  his  adieu. 


vn 

T"  IT  IS  visit  to  Lady  Wycliffe  left  in  Hubert's 
a  m  mind  a  sense  as  of  another  contest  waged 
__M  M  between  them  (though  of  a  very  different 
sort  from  their  previous  encounter  in  The 
Red  Review).  Yet  those  instants  of  their  conversation 
which  he  had  striven  most  to  evade  had  made  on  him 
the  deepest  impress.  He  was  touched  by  the  feeling 
she  had  displayed,  the  more  so  as  he  was  sure  that  she 
had  had  no  suspicion  he  was  trying  to  keep  her  at 
arm's  length.  Her  very  unconsciousness  of  the  bout 
had  carried  her  almost  to  conquering-point.  Time 
and  again  she  had  listened  to  his  desperate  diva- 
gations with  patient  interest,  only  to  return  with 
surprising  naturalness  to  the  insistent  pursuit  of  her 
own  theme. 

When  he  came  to  look  back,  what  rang  most  in  his 
ears  was  her  note  of  earnest  intention,  vibrating  now 
with  meanings,  which  he,  intent  on  his  half-hearted 
parrying  of  her  eager  advances,  had  failed  then  to 
catch.  But  in  his  after-reflection  his  perception  seemed 
to  quicken;  and  ultimately,  recalling  the  whole  unre- 
lenting drift  of  her  argument,  and  remembering,  more- 
over, those  significant  flashes  across  her  face  at  that 
moment  of  swift  consideration  after  he  had  accepted  her 
invitation,  he  could  not  help  suspecting  that  she  must 
have  conceived  the  idea  of  finding  a  wife  for  him — in  so 
nice  a  way,  of  course,  that  he  should  never  suppose  she 
had  planned  it.  No  doubt,  indeed,  she  had  some  par- 
ticular person  in  mind  for  him,  and  he  amused  himself 
trying  to  imagine  what  this  person  was  like.  Possibly 
after  all — and  this  seemed  to  explain  that  sudden  illu- 

59 


60  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

mination  of  her  features — she  would  be  having  other 
guests  on  the  evening  she  had  named,  and  this  very 
parti  was  to  be  included  among  them. 

"  Poor  Lady  Wy cliff e — just  like  her  charming,  senti- 
mental self !  "  he  could  not  help  smiling,  for  he  seemed 
to  know  her  very  well  now.  How  impracticable  of  her 
to  suppose  that  she  could  promote  a  marriage  between 
people  in  two  different  worlds ! — the  different  disposi- 
tions of  existence  this  mere  fact  involved  would  alone 
create  insuperable  difficulties.  The  London  season  was 
running  to  a  close,  and  he  was  not  likely,  what  with  the 
weeks  in  Flintshire  and  his  immediate  return  after  that 
to  his  duties,  to  see  anything  of  Lady  Wycliffe  again 
for  many  months  to  come;  for  the  Wycliffes  were  wont 
to  spend  an  unusually  great  part  of  the  year  at  their 
Yorkshire  seat. 

Her  scheme  could  thus  scarcely  survive  its  inception; 
but  the  circumstances  were  just  such  as  it  would  be 
characteristic  of  Lady  Wycliffe  to  overlook — with  her 
inveterate  habit  of  seeing  things,  as  in  a  romance, 
divorced  from  actual  conditions.  So  altogether  Hubert 
did  not  exercise  himself  too  seriously  about  this  threat 
to  his  bachelorhood. 

Not  unnaturally  the  theme  led  his  thoughts  back  to 
his  mother.  He  had  been  keeping  himself  informed  of 
her  health  and  even  of  her  local  activities,  though  she 
would  not  now  permit  any  direct  communication  between 
them.  He  knew  she  had  quite  enough  to  live  upon,  and 
he  even  assumed  she  must  be  saving  a  little,  for  there 
had  been  no  outside  call  upon  her  for  years.  She  had 
always  had  ambitious  ideas  about  her  sons'  marriages, 
and,  since  she  had  been  so  grievously  stricken  in  the 
case  of  the  younger  one,  Hubert  was  sure  his  own  mar- 
riage into  a  "  good  family  "  (which  at  the  same  time 
should  be  wealthy,  for  the  old  Mrs.  Ruthven  did  not 
despise  a  solid  fortune,  nor  even  a  modest  one  so  long 
as  it  was  a  fortune)  would,  in  spite  of  the  estrangement, 


THE  BACHELOR  61 

yield  her  intense  pleasure.  True,  her  bliss  would  not 
be  perfect  unless  the  wife  were  of  her  own  choosing, 
but,  with  regard  to  that  point,  he  might  count  on  her 
generous  forbearance. 

She  had  been  a  good,  though  stern  mother  to  her 
boys,  and,  if  Hubert's  love  had  survived  undiminished 
his  more  recent  experiences  of  the  imperious  woman, 
deep-eyed,  furrowed,  and  silver-haired,  who  had  well- 
nigh  reduced  him  to  despair,  it  was  because  he  cherished 
the  memory  of  what  she  had  been  in  the  distant  past. 
Her  grievances  against  him  had  been  endless,  the  last 
time  he  had  attempted  to  come  to  an  understanding 
with  her.  His  continued  writings  had  scandalized  the 
neighbourhood,  and  she  had  been  ashamed  to  show  her 
face  anywhere  for  months.  Moreover,  Edward  was  dug 
up  from  his  grave  to  be  murdered  over  again;  whilst 
Agnes  and  the  children  were  torn  limb  from  limb  for 
their  bare-faced  subsistence  on  the  family  revenues.  Hu- 
bert perceived  that  nothing  short  of  converting  him 
into  a  puppet  would  satisfy  her.  Taking  her  autocratic 
stand  on  the  unanswerable  fact  of  her  maternity,  she 
would  not  have  allowed  him  an  idea  or  a  desire  of  his 
own.  She  would  have  prescribed  his  convictions,  dic- 
tated his  actions,  ordered  his  meals  and  his  recreations, 
selected  his  house,  his  wife,  his  friends,  planned  his 
honeymoon  and  his  holidays,  controlled  his  expenditure, 
and  even  allotted  him  pocket-money  shilling  by  shilling. 
On  his  unwillingness  to  have  so  much  unpleasant  dis- 
cussion forced  upon  him,  she  had  indulged  in  a  great 
outbreak  of  sobbing.  She  did  not  suppose  she  would 
last  much  longer  now.  She  was  an  old  woman  and 
God  knew  she  had  done  her  duty.  Now  she  was  de- 
serted by  her  only  child — poor  forlorn  creature  that 
she  was !  Soon  it  would  be  too  late  and  then  he  would 
think  more  gently  of  his  mother.  "  Oh  my  God !  "  she 
had  cried  hysterically,  with  a  swaying  of  her  body: 
"  Why  did  you  not  take  away  my  life  before  my  poor 


62  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

Edward  was  stolen  from  me!  Oh,  that  I  should  have 
lived  to  see  my  first-born  turn  against  me ! " 

Such  was  the  painful  scene  with  which  that  futile 
interview  had  ended.  The  bitterness  with  which  he  had 
journeyed  back  to  London  had  never  wholly  left  him — 
his  mother's  iron  had  entered  too  deeply  into  his  soul. 
Even  to-day  the  mere  memory  of  that  stormy  afternoon 
was  able  to  give  him  an  extremely  unpleasant  sensation, 
causing  him  to  shrink  back  into  himself  and  desire  to 
have  done  with  everybody  and  everything. 

However,  this  dejection  was  only  of  momentary  dura- 
tion, and  he  brightened  again  with  the  thought  of  the 
coming  vacation.  Nor  did  he  forget  that  school  would 
now  be  breaking  up,  and  that  it  would  be  nice  for  the 
children  to  have  a  real  holiday  too.  They  had  never 
yet  in  their  lives  been  to  the  seaside,  and  the  very  sug- 
gestion of  such  a  trip  would  open  out  paradise  to 
them. 

His  ordinary  visit  to  Agnes  was  not  due  for  another 
week  or  so,  but  on  the  day  he  was  to  dine  at  St.  James's 
Square,  he  was  impelled  to  go  at  once  and  arrange  their 
departure.  Even  Agnes  would  find  it  difficult  to  dis- 
cover some  insidious  motive  behind  his  desire  to  give 
her  and  the  children,  say,  six  weeks  at  Margate  or  some 
such  other  place. 

For  once,  however,  he  was  destined  to  come  upon 
her  in  an  unprecedentedly  affable  humour.  She  had 
a  festive,  well-dressed  appearance,  as  if  she  had  just 
returned  from  Sunday  morning  church,  and  she  dis- 
tinctly beamed  on  him  in  welcome.  Nor  did  she  seem 
in  the  least  depressed  by  the  notion  of  the  holiday. 

"Girls!"  she  cried  joyously,  summoning  them  from 
the  adjoining  room.  "  We're  going  to  the  sea-side  for 
six  weeks ! " 

They  came  scampering  in  eagerly,  and  their  mother 
did  not  frown  as  Hubert  caressed  them. 

School  had  already  broken  up,  she  explained  to  him, 


THE  BACHELOR  63 

and,  on  the  previous  afternoon,  she  had  taken  the  girls 
in  their  best  frocks  down  to  Hyde  Park.  Her  mind 
was  chock-full  of  the  excursion,  and  evidently  the  radi- 
ance of  her  enjoyment  had  brightened  the  whole  of 
this  following  day.  The  household  was  still  sporting 
its  best  attire,  as  if  to  live  up  to  some  new  brilliant 
standard.  Agnes's  face  shone  as  she  recalled  the  glori- 
ous vision  of  Park  Lane  and  the  Row  on  which  she 
had  feasted  so  greedily,  and  which  she  was  now  digest- 
ing with  not  less  pleasure.  She  described  it  all  in  a 
breathless  swirl  of  words — the  beautiful  houses,  the 
immense  crowds  of  people,  the  lords  and  ladies  driving 
in  elegant  carriages,  the  prancing  horses,  the  dashing 
riders,  the  haughty  young  ladies  with  their  grooms ! 
Occasionally  she  dashed  in  a  little  criticism,  even  mock- 
ery, as  at  one  old  frumpy-looking  lady  who  had  dyed 
her  hair  brown  when  you  could  see  it  was  grey  at  the 
roots.  "  And  as  for  her  dress,  why  everybody  was 
laughing  at  her.  Such  a  fright  I  never  saw  in  all  my 
born  days.  I  flatter  myself  I  should  cut  as  good  a 
figure  in  a  carriage  as  some  of  them  any  day." 

She  appealed  to  the  girls  for  corroboration,  and 
they,  imbued  with  their  mother's  scorn,  laughed  at  the 
remembrance. 

"And  did  you  enjoy  it  all,  little  girls?  "  asked  Hu- 
bert. 

"  Rather ! "  said  May.  "  I  should  like  to  go  every 
day." 

"  Mother  says,"  put  in  Gwenny,  "  that  the  people  in 
the  carriages  and  on  the  horses  go  out  every  after- 
noon and  enjoy  themselves.  They  never  have  any  work 
to  do." 

"  Perhaps  they  are  not  enjoying  themselves  so  much 
as  they  appear  to  be,"  suggested  Hubert. 

"  Oh,  uncle,  I'm  quite  sure  they  were  enjoying  them- 
selves," said  May  confidently.  "  I  should,  if  I  had  a 
carriage  of  my  own." 


64  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

"  Don't  be  so  foolish,  May,"  said  Gwenny.  "  Only 
rich  people  have  carriages." 

"  My  little  May  is  going  to  grow  up  one  day  and 
marry  a  rich  young  handsome  lord,"  interposed  their 
mother.  "  And  my  Gwenny,  too,  of  course." 

Yesterday's  gay  sights  had  evidently  unsettled  her 
ideas,  for  this  was  soaring  high  with  a  vengeance. 
Hubert,  however,  did  not  disturb  her  mood,  for  he 
would  not  at  present  revert  to  the  subject  of  their  last 
discussion,  and  there  were  only  agreeable  matters  to  talk 
over  this  time.  To  complete  the  joyous  excitement  of 
the  family,  he  now  proceeded  to  open  certain  little 
packages  which  he  had  put  down  on  entering,  and 
over  which  he  had  placed  his  tall  silk  hat,  so  that  they 
had  seemed  quite  unrelated  to  his  visit.  Boxes  of  sweet- 
meats and  story-books  for  the  children,  and  a  gold 
brooch  for  their  mother,  were  revealed  in  turn  amid 
expressions  of  surprised  delight;  and  even  the  produc- 
tion of  an  envelope  containing  a  cheque  for  a  much 
larger  amount  than  usual  did  not  evoke  in  Agnes  the 
usual  antagonism.  He  always  gave  her  a  cheque,  be- 
cause she  liked  the  excitement  of  the  journey  to  the 
West-end  bank  on  which  it  was  drawn  and  the  important 
feeling  of  going  about  high  business. 

When  he  expressed  his  anxiety  that  they  should  leave 
London  at  once,  Agnes  smiled  indulgently.  Just  like  a 
man!  How  were  they  to  go  off  without  preparations? 
There  were  endless  little  things  to  be  bought,  and  there 
were  frocks  to  be  made,  and  everything  had  to  be 
packed.  However,  she  would  do  her  best  and  try  hard 
for  Saturday  morning.  He  explained  he  himself  had 
accepted  an  invitation  to  pass  his  vacation  with  friends, 
but  he  would  probably  be  able  to  pay  them  a  day's  visit 
at  Margate  before  he  went  off  to  Wales,  and  there  was 
the  possibility  of  perhaps  a  longer  visit  from  him  near 
the  end  of  their  stay. 

The  children's  faces  were  uplifted  in  ecstasy. 


THE  BACHELOR  65 

"  Yes,  uncle,  do  come,"  they  chimed  together. 

Hubert  went  away  in  a  lighter  mood,  pleased  that  the 
children  were  happy  and  that  he  had  been  able  to 
create  for  them  so  entrancing  a  prospect. 


VIII 

rHE  gratification,  in  fact,  he  had  afforded  the 
little  family  was  sufficient  compensation  for 
his  having  to  hurry  unduly  in  order  to  arrive 
at  St.  James's  Square  with  the  barest  punctu- 
ality. 

It  was  not  a  formal  party  as,  on  learning  that  Preston 
had  been  asked  for  the  same  evening,  he  had  begun  to 
think  it  might  be;  but  still  he  found  some  dozen  guests 
assembled  in  the  drawing-room.  The  bluff,  happy- 
looking  host  was  talking  with  a  tall,  thin  iron-grey  man, 
who  held  his  hands  behind  him,  was  most  severe  of 
mien,  and,  as  a  listener,  almost  comicaUy  attentive. 
This  was  a  neighbour  of  the  Wycliffes,  Sir  Robert 
Hardynge  by  name,  to  whose  daughter,  Miss  Cissie 
Hardynge,  Hubert  was  presently  introduced  as  well. 
She  was  a  fresh,  pretty  girl,  of  markedly  Saxon  type, 
with  a  nice  voice  and  a  subdued  manner,  but,  at  the 
moment,  his  impression  of  her  was  of  the  vaguest. 
That  was  because  the  big-chested  figure  in  the  prime  of 
life,  who  was  just  then  discoursing  to  her  on  torpedoes, 
flashed  at  him  a  keen,  proud  glance.  "  Who  the  devil 
are  you?  "  it  seemed  to  demand  at  the  very  least. 
Hubert  could  not  flash  back  a  similar  challenge;  he 
knew  very  well  that  Lord  William  Hannerley  was  the 
hero  of  a  far-famed  naval  exploit  a  few  years  back. 
Per  contra,  a  gnarled,  stern-looking  earl  who  had  with 
him  a  young  son  fresh  from  Eton  was  as  markedly 
gracious  to  him  as  the  hostess  herself.  The  boy  who 
had  hooked  himself  on  to  Preston  as  looking  the  nearest 
to  his  sort  seemed  to  be  extremely  pleased  at  the  progress 
he  was  making. 


THE  BACHELOR  67 

Very  soon  Hubert  was  eating  his  soup  with  Miss 
Hardynge  on  his  right,  and  an  old,  stately,  though 
somewhat  powdered  woman  (who  had  arrived  even  later 
than  he,  and  whom  he  afterwards  discovered  was  Lord 
William's  mother)  on  his  left.  As  he  had  no  reason  for 
assuming  that  his  hostess's  desire  to  see  him  married  had 
already  died  away,  he  glanced  round  the  table  with  some 
curiosity.  Upstairs  he  had  somehow  taken  notice  of  the 
men  more  than  of  the  women;  perhaps  because  a  vague 
group  of  the  latter,  whose  names  he  had  scarcely  caught, 
offered  to  his  eye  few  outward  points  of  distinction. 
Now,  so  far  as  he  could  make  out,  Miss  Hardynge  was 
the  only  unmarried  person  of  her  sex  in  the  room ; 
unless,  indeed,  he  were  to  count  the  aged  yet  brisk-looking 
maiden  lady  of  the  Early  Victorian  school — her  first 
governess,  Lady  Wycliffe  had  smilingly  whispered  him 
— who,  in  her  prime,  had  travelled  over  the  beaten  tracks 
of  Europe,  and  subsequently  published  (through  the 
eminent  house  of  John  Murray,  and  with  a  view  to 
the  improvement  of  young  gentlewomen's  minds)  two 
volumes  of  her  valuable  observations  and  experiences, 
including  a  lengthy  chapter  about  landing  at  Calais  and 
passing  through  the  Custom  House.  Hubert  had  often 
come  across  odd  copies  a-mouldering  in  the  "  twopenny 
box."  He  was  at  least  sure  that  she  could  not  be  the 
person  to  whom  his  hostess  desired  him  to  pay  his  ad- 
dresses; though  he  smiled  as  he  imagined  Preston 
gravely  hinting  that  Lady  Wycliffe  was  by  no  means 
incapable  of  fancying  this  the  appropriate  match  for 
him. 

He  was  not,  however,  getting  along  very  well  even 
with  Miss  Hardynge.  Indeed,  he  began  to  think  at 
length  she  must  be  finding  him  a  great  bore.  But  then 
he  had  never  felt  himself  capable  of  entertaining  that 
sort  of  girl,  who  blossomed  in  her  healthy  tens  of 
thousands  over  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land.  He 
was  relieved  when  they  stumbled  at  last  on  "  hockey," 


68  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

for  that  elicited  some  gleam  of  interest  from  her,  and  set 
her  enlarging  on  the  merits  of  the  game  which  she  much 
preferred  to  lawn-tennis.  He  gathered  more  from  what 
she  said  than  from  any  flash  of  manner  that  she  was 
deeply  enthusiastic  about  it.  After  that,  talk  flowed 
more  easily;  though  her  enjoyments  appeared  to  obsess 
her  mind  completely.  At  the  same  time  he  could  not 
help  seeing  that  she  was  assuming  that  he  was  a  man  of 
fashion  who  moved  in  the  same  sort  of  world  as  herself, 
for  she  seemed  taken  aback  at  the  stream  of  negatives 
that  met  her  presumptions  that  he  had  assisted  at  this, 
that,  or  the  other  society  function.  He  thought  it  time 
to  enlighten  her  at  last. 

"  I  dare  say  I  am  a  queer  sort  of  person  from  your 
point  of  view,"  he  added  smilingly. 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  disclaimed,  smiling  back  at  him.  "  I 
do  not  think  that  at  all.  But  you  are  more  difficult  than 
most  men." 

For  the  first  time  he  was  conscious  of  being  charmed 
a  little,  for  there  was  a  sudden  touch  of  animation  in  her 
voice,  hinting  at  some  individual  girlish  spirit  beneath 
her  typical  personality. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  find  me  difficult — though  I  don't 
quite  know  what  manner  of  shortcoming  that  is.  I 
hope  not  anything  very  dreadful." 

"  It's  not  a  shortcoming,"  she  assured  him.  "  I  mean 
that  most  men  are  easy  to  see  through." 

"  To  see  through  them !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  That's 
just  the  way  to  see  nothing  of  them.  The  point  is  to 
see  into  them." 

She  laughed.  "  I  tried  to  read  one  of  your  articles 
the  other  day,  Mr.  Ruthven.  It  was  as  difficult  as  you 
are — I  couldn't  follow  the  argument  a  bit.  It  was  like 
being  in  the  school-room  again  and  I  wanted  a  governess 
to  explain  things." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  worried  you ! " 

"  No,  indeed.     You  are  quite  innocent.     Besides,  I 


THE  BACHELOR  69 

never  would  let  anything  worry  me.  When  things  aren't 
quite  to  my  liking,  I  sit  down  and  just  laugh  at  them." 

"  Then  I  have  already  had  the  honour  of  being 
laughed  at  by  you !  " 

She  blushed  suddenly  as  if  in  confusion.  "  I  took 
you — I  mean  the  article — much  too  seriously  for  that," 
she  stammered.  Then,  after  a  moment  of  smiling  hesi- 
tation, she  added :  "  Lady  Wycliffe  told  me  that  I  should 
have  to  talk  to  you  to-day,  and  she  said  I  had  better 
read  something  of  yours  beforehand.  In  fact  she  lent 
me  the  magazine  herself." 

She  gave  a  quick,  laughing  glance  in  the  direction  of 
their  hostess,  so  did  not  see  into  what  a  look  this  last 
piece  of  information  had  startled  him.  But  he  was  able 
to  meet  her  smilingly  as  she  turned  her  face  again  to- 
wards him,  her  eyes  gleaming  with  quiet  amusement. 
Evidently  she  had  made  the  confession  from  a  pure 
sense  of  fun.  He  naturally  saw  more  fun  in  the  situ- 
ation than  she;  and  more  still  presently  when  he  learnt 
that  the  pages  with  which  his  neighbour  had  tried  to 
wrestle  were  the  least  heretical  of  all  his  writings. 

"  It  is  quite  nice  now  to  find  myself  understanding 
every  word  you  say,"  she  assured  him.  "  I  was  fearfully 
afraid  of  you  at  first."  She  was  still  frankly  enjoying 
the  whole  experience. 

Though  they  had  made  great  advance  since  their 
somewhat  inauspicious  beginning,  and  though  he  had 
modified  his  first  impression  as  to  the  precise  type  of 
girl  she  was,  he  was  still  not  observing  her  very  closely, 
and  his  notions  of  her  appearance — her  dress  and  her 
features — were  of  the  vaguest.  Meanwhile  her  talk  had 
quickened  into  chatter,  and  soon  he  had  heard  a  great 
deal  about  her  Yorkshire  home,  and  more  particularly 
about  her  own  life  in  the  country.  Her  father  was 
very  strict.  He  hated  novels,  and  was  always  angry  at 
seeing  the  latest  batch  from  the  circulating  library  lying 
about  the  house,  though  her  mother  insisted  on  having 


70  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

them,  and  there  were  the  visitors  to  provide  for.  If  by 
any  chance  he  happened  to  find  her  reading  one, 
"  Really,  Cissie,"  he  would  say :  "  cannot  you  find  some 
wiser  way  of  employing  your  time?  "  All  the  same  she 
contrived  to  get  through  a  goodly  number  of  them. 

Hubert  found,  too,  she  had  formed  for  herself  a  dis- 
tinct philosophy  of  life.  She  had  made  up  her  mind 
always  to  be  happy,  and  she  would  "  never,  never, 
never  "  allow  anything  to  make  her  miserable. 

"  Not  even  other  people's  troubles  ?  "  he  could  not 
resist  asking. 

"  It  is  foolish  to  be  unhappy  about  other  people's 
troubles.  One  doesn't  lessen  their  worry,  one  only  makes 
more  in  the  world  than  there  was  before." 

Any  controversy  this  might  have  led  to  was  prevented 
by  the  hostess's  rising  just  then,  and  the  astonished 
Hubert  was  left  meditating  on  the  Pagan  doctrine. 

Not  for  long,  however;  one  must  be  sociable  after 
dinner.  Yet  he  scarcely  achieved  what  Lady  Wycliffe 
had  ostensibly  desired  him  to  come  for — the  further  cul- 
tivation of  her  husband.  Lord  Wycliffe  was,  indeed, 
attentive  to  him,  was  near  him  at  times  with  his  bluff, 
hearty  laughter,  addressing  him  often  and  including 
him  in  an  implied  intimacy.  But  his  lordship  certainly 
evaded  any  opportunity  for  self-revelation.  Of  Miss 
Hardynge's  father,  Hubert  was,  however,  able  to  ob- 
tain better  knowledge.  That  gravely-courteous  and  at- 
tentively-listening baronet  told  him  frankly  that  he 
hated  his  views,  though  he  admired  his  abilities.  With 
the  manner  of  a  friendly  older  man  lecturing  an  indis- 
creet younger  one  for  the  good  of  the  latter's  soul,  he 
warmly  lauded  the  staunch  old  ordering  of  things.  He 
believed  firmly  in  the  worth  and  dignity  of  his  own 
worldly  position.  The  world  was  an  excellent  place, 
England  was  the  pick  of  the  world,  and  Yorkshire  was 
the  pick  of  England.  Pessimists  were  ungrateful  to 
their  Creator  (for  he  was  an  earnest  Christian),  and 


THE  BACHELOR  71 

reformers  were,  as  a  rule,  actuated  by  mere  vanity,  and 
understood  nothing  of  that  with  which  they  were  bent 
on  meddling.  Happily  Sir  Robert,  as  it  came  out  pres- 
ently, was  as  enthusiastic  an  angler  as  he  was  a  feudalist ; 
and,  once  his  imagination  had  travelled  off  to  the  banks 
of  meandering  streams,  he  had  so  many  pleasant  remi- 
niscences to  retail,  so  many  technical  points  to  dogma- 
tize about,  that  there  was  no  fear  of  dangerous  re- 
versions on  his  part.  And  altogether  he  found  Hubert 
so  sympathetic  a  person  that  he  trusted  he  would  honour 
him  some  day  with  a  visit  in  the  North. 


IX 

f  T"UBERT  strolled  with  Preston  the  short  dis- 
m  m  tance  from  St.  James's  Square  to  Jermyn- 
JL  JL  street,  and,  at  the  moment  of  adieu,  was 
tempted  up  the  many  stairs  for  a  quiet,  rest- 
ful chat,  which,  however,  insidiously  prolonged  itself, 
to  an  accompaniment  of  cigarettes,  till  two  o'clock  in 
the  morning.  Preston,  though  he  spoke  a  little  about 
Miss  Hardynge,  apparently  did  not  attribute  to  Lady 
Wycliffe  any  design  with  regard  to  his  friend,  and  Hu- 
bert at  one  moment  vacillated  in  his  own  mind  as  to 
the  accuracy  of  his  previous  assumptions.  Still,  on 
further  reflection,  he  grew  more  than  ever  inclined  to 
believe  that,  in  Lady  Wycliffe's  opinion,  Miss  Hardynge 
offered  the  prospect  of  a  suitable  marriage  for  him. 
True,  she  could  scarcely  be  more  than  twenty  three  or 
twenty-four,  but  then  in  society  a  difference  of  a  dozen 
years  was  scarcely  considered. 

"  You  no  doubt  observed  I  had  the  very  honourable 
place  on  Lady  Wycliffe's  left,"  had  volunteered  Preston ; 
"  and  she  favoured  me  with  a  great  deal  of  her  con- 
versation. She  seemed  mostly  to  be  praising  up  every- 
body round  her  board,  and  it  gave  me  a  distinct  thrill 
to  be  feeding  with  such  a  unique  saintly  collection. 
Had  you  known,  by  the  way,  that  the  powdered  person 
who  sat  on  your  left  is  the  most  devoted  mother  in  the 
kingdom,  you  might  perhaps  have  been  a  little  more 
amiable  to  her." 

"  I  plead  guilty.  I  can  only  cling  to  the  hope  that 
my  amiability  towards  the  other  side  was  at  least  not 
misplaced." 

"  On  the  same  authority  a  bundle  of  beauty  and 

72 


THE  BACHELOR  73 

intellect,  sympathy  and  self-sacrifice! — wrapped  to- 
gether in  a  sixty-guinea  dinner  gown ! " 

When  Hubert  got  back  to  Pump  Court  he  was  con- 
fronted again  by  the  motley  spectacle  of  his  book- 
shelves, and  vowed  for  the  fifth  time  at  least  he  must 
complete  the  rearrangement  which  Preston  had  inaugur- 
ated but  showed  no  further  disposition  to  continue. 

But  the  habit  of  gaiety  growing  on  poor  Hubert,  he 
permitted  Preston  on  the  evenings  immediately  follow- 
ing to  seduce  him  from  books  altogether,  and  they 
fleeted  the  hours  at  theatres  and  club  smoking-rooms. 

Meantime  the  figure  of  Miss  Hardynge  was  perhaps 
the  most  shadowy  of  all  in  Hubert's  remembrance  of 
his  fellow-guests  that  evening.  He  could  recall  Miss 
Hardynge's  father,  he  could  recall  the  gnarled-looking 
earl  with  his  seventeen-year-old  Etonian,  the  naval  hero 
and  his  mother — all  clearly  and  vividly  almost  to  their 
every  feature.  Yet  they  seemed  very  much  further 
from  him  than  his  irritatingly  vague  image  of  the  girl 
whose  parting  doctrine  was  still  in  his  ears.  He  found 
himself  dwelling  on  her  at  all  sorts  of  odd  times  in  an 
ever-foiled  attempt  to  reconstruct  her  more  solidly  in 
his  mind's  eye.  Her  figure  would  float  up  for  a  mo- 
ment, indistinct  and  elusive.  But  he  could  recall  no 
trait  of  hers — neither  the  colour  of  her  eyes  or  hair,  nor 
the  height  of  her  forehead,  nor  the  curve  of  her  cheek, 
nor  the  movement  of  lip,  nor  the  gleam  of  teeth.  He 
had  only  the  general  feeling  of  her  fresh  young  person- 
ality that  was  in  him  like  the  echo  of  a  clear,  sweet 
note. 

On  the  Monday  morning  he  had  a  line  from  Agnes  to 
say  she  was  now  able  to  fix  the  following  morning  for 
their  departure  for  the  seaside.  The  thought  of  the 
happy  pitch  the  children's  excitement  must  have  reached 
by  this  time  made  him  smile  broadly.  He  was  sorry  he 
could  not  go  to  see  them  before  they  left,  as  important 
work  had  come  in  which  would  occupy  all  his  evening, 


74  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

but  he  made  up  his  mind  to  surprise  them  by  meeting 
them  at  the  station  and  seeing  them  off.  The  train 
mentioned  by  Agnes  was  a  very  early  one,  but  by 
rising  an  hour  or  so  before  his  usual  time  he  could  say 
good-bye  to  them  and  be  home  again  for  breakfast. 

He  was  in  good  spirits  all  day,  and  after  dinner  he 
settled  down  to  work  right  up  to  midnight.  The  docu- 
ments with  which  he  was  occupied  were  of  unusual  inter- 
est, and  he  became  eagerly  absorbed  in  them.  Appear- 
ances in  court  were  for  him  the  exception  rather  than 
the  rule,  and  he  was  grateful  his  legal  practice  had  been 
able  to  shape  itself  in  a  way  that  harmonized  with  his 
scholar's  temperament.  When  he  had  finished  he  sat 
about  a  little  to  compose  his  mind  before  retiring.  His 
thoughts  naturally  flew  to  the  children  and  their  holi- 
day. Just  then  they  would  be  sleeping  feverishly, 
dreaming  of  the  sea  they  were  to  behold  on  the  morrow 
for  the  first  time.  No  doubt  Agnes  had  amply  expati- 
ated to  them  on  the  poetry  of  the  golden  sands  and  the 
mystery  of  bathing-machines,  on  the  joys  of  digging 
and  paddling  and  donkey-rides;  perhaps  had  even 
entertained  them  with  witty  scraps  from  the  dialogues 
of  ventriloquists  and  minstrels — cherished  memories  of 
her  honeymoon  days.  They  would  be  out  of  bed  long 
before  it  was  necessary,  and  they  would  certainly  have 
no  appetite  for  breakfast!  He  pictured  them  as  he 
should  find  them  at  the  end  of  the  week — when,  he 
calculated,  he  would  be  able  to  pay  them  the  promised 
visit — sun-browned,  barefoot,  and  as  familiar  with  sands 
and  sea-weed  as  if  they  had  been  occupied  with  such 
things  their  whole  lives. 

And  presently  he  found  himself  trying  to  recall  Miss 
Hardynge's  features  again.  And  amid  this  idle  pas- 
time he  could  not  help  remembering  Lady  Wycliffe's 
overflowing  estimation  of  the  girl  as  poured  into  the 
ear  of  Preston.  He  had  formed  for  himself  a  sufficient 
idea  of  Miss  Hardynge  to  be  able  to  agree  with  his 


THE  BACHELOR  75 

friend  as  to  the  extent  of  Lady  Wycliffe's  impulsive 
exaggeration,  but,  of  course,  that  did  not  imply  any 
reflection  on  the  girl  whose  charm  and  breeding  were 
unquestionable.  He  could  not  imagine  her  as  the  inti- 
mate companion  of  his  existence,  but  still 

Hubert  found  a  fascination  in  letting  his  tired  brain 
play  with  this  train  of  ideas.  And  yet  he  played  with 
a  pretence  at  seriousness  that  would  have  deceived 
himself  were  he  not  at  bottom  smiling  the  whole  time. 

First  of  all  he  considered  whether  his  worldly  posi- 
tion (viewed  as  it  might  be,  for  example,  by  some  of  his 
dry-as-dust  fellow-lawyers  who  dined  out  a  great  deal, 
and  had  a  great  respect  for  the  established  solidities) 
gave  him  the  right  to  think  of  such  a  marriage,  and  he 
came  to  the  conclusion  he  ought  to  think  highly  of  his 
standing.  Well,  was  there  anything  better  before  him 
than  to  become  a  part  of  those  established  solidities? 
He  was  no  longer  in  his  youth,  and  if  the  exigencies  of 
life  had  been  such  as  to  deny  him  romance  at  the  proper 
season,  then  he  must  even  do  without  romance.  The 
next  few  years  would  soon  have  gone  by  in  their  sly, 
quick-shuffling  fashion,  and  he  would  find  himself  forty 
years  old,  and,  in  all  likelihood,  a  melancholy  recluse, 
permanently  embittered.  If  he  were  ever  going  to 
attach  any  value  to  the  social  anchorage,  why  not  now 
rather  than  later? 

He  had  always  felt  that,  if  he  ever  married  at  all,  it 
could  only  be  for  love,  but,  at  his  age,  one  must  wake 
up  and  face  things  as  they  are.  He  must  recognize  that 
he  had  retained  the  ideas  and  fancies  of  adolescence  on 
the  subject  of  marriage,  although  he  had  in  reality  out- 
grown them.  Surely  they  ought  to  be  swept  away. 

Towards  forty  one  must  marry  sensibly.  One  knows 
what  real  women  are — human  beings  with  so  much 
sterling  worth  and  so  many  shortcomings.  Useless  either 
to  idealize  the  first  or  exaggerate  the  second. 

But  he  had  not  the    slightest    idea    whether    Miss 


76  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

Hardynge  had,  since  their  meeting,  given  him  another 
thought.  She  was  a  unit  in  a  special  thickly-populated 
little  world,  whose  air  she  breathed,  whose  faiths  she 
accepted,  whose  pleasures  she  enjoyed.  She  saw  from 
its  standpoint,  and  neither  thought,  knew,  nor  cared 
about  humanity  in  the  way  he  thought,  knew,  and 
cared.  Everything  had  been  ready-made  for  her  except 
her  dresses.  Her  interests,  her  imagination,  her  very 
life  were  all  within  a  carefully-drawn  circle — though 
evidently  that  had  never  struck  her.  And  a  network 
of  bands  that  pleasantly  linked  her  to  a  thousand 
other  people — all  similarly  interlinked — determined  her 
thoughts,  desires,  and  activities. 

His  own  life  had  been  lived  outside  the  barriers  of 
her  world;  his  own  thoughts,  desires,  and  activities  had 
been  determined,  in  so  far  as  they  were  for  material 
ends,  by  the  force  of  circumstances,  in  so  far  as  they 
were  for  noble  ends,  by  the  force  of  his  own  character. 
How  grotesquely  contrasting  their  respective  vision  of 
the  world !  Was  a  successful  social  partnership  possible 
between  them? 

He  believed  it  was,  though  his  vision  could  never 
become  hers.  And  the  idea,  moreover,  was  singularly 
attractive.  There  was  something  refreshing  and  restful 
about  this  pretty  young  person  who  unquestioningly 
partook  of  what  the  fates  had  spread  before  her.  Why 
should  he  ever  disturb  the  simple  serenity  of  her  mind, 
her  large  naive  faith  in  her  feudal  traditions,  why  vex 
her  brain,  busy  only  with  the  concrete  points  of  a  York- 
shire seat  or  a  London  season?  She  was  bright  enough 
in  her  limited  way,  with  a  sharp  eye  for  things  within 
her  own  small  outlook.  As  a  figure  at  the  head  of  his 
household  she  pleased  him  immensely,  and,  in  imagina- 
tion, he  already  felt  proud  of  her.  He  might  even  train 
her  in  a  plain,  broad  way  to  share  his  philanthropic 
aspirations ;  though,  of  course,  he  could  never  surrender 
to  her  the  fortress  of  his  innermost  soul.  But  he  would 


THE  BACHELOR  77 

always  be  conscious  of  the  restful  calm  of  hers.  She 
would  be  as  fresh,  as  absolute,  and  as  untroubled  as  an 
undying  flower. 

Of  the  innumerable  yet  subtly-guarded  doors  that 
led  to  her  world  several  were  now  open  to  him,  and, 
if  he  so  desired,  he  could  pass  through  at  will.  Why 
then  not  pass  through,  bent  on  carrying  her  off? 

The  adventure  pleased  him.  When  at  last  he  retired, 
he  had  almost  come  to  believe  in  the  serious  purpose  of 
his  long  meditation. 


rHAT  same  Monday  May  and  Gwenny  rose  as 
early  as  if  it  were  already  the  next  day  and 
they  were  to  be  off  immediately.  Everything 
to-day  was  to  be  make-shift,  and  they  in- 
stinctively put  on  their  shabbiest  frocks — by  way  of  ac- 
centuating the  brilliant  time  to  follow.  Gwenny's  atti- 
tude was  one  of  acceptance  of  all  the  joy  to  come,  and 
she  was  content  to  be  thrilled  by  the  general  sensation 
of  the  occasion;  whereas  May's  brain  was  busy  with 
thousands  of  plans  and  she  was  eagerly  enjoying  her 
joy  beforehand.  But  both  Lad  that  strange,  nice  feel- 
ing that  came  whenever  they  moved  to  new  rooms 
(Agnes  was  fond  of  changing  their  quarters)  before 
things  had  been  put  in  order;  when  impromptu  meals 
had  to  be  eaten  under  charming  difficulties  amid  a 
jumble  of  furniture. 

It  was  about  seven  o'clock  when  they  entered  the 
sitting-room,  and  there  was  no  indication  as  yet  that 
their  mother  was  astir.  The  sunshine  came  pouring  in 
as  they  drew  up  the  blinds,  revealing  a  fascinating  dis- 
order. The  big  box  and  the  little  one  stood  side  by 
side  ready  to  be  filled,  but  nearly  everything  to  go  into 
them  encumbered  the  sofa  and  table,  and  overflowed  on 
to  odd  chairs.  Tin  pails  (in  each  of  which  reposed  a 
gaudy  indiarubber  ball)  and  rather  formidable-looking 
spades  were  ranged  near  the  boxes.  The  spades  had 
indeed  been  veritably  extorted  from  Agnes ;  they  having 
turned  up  their  noses  at  the  tiny  wooden  ones  she  had  at 
first  selected,  the  rebellious  May  even  petulantly  declar- 
ing her  indifference  to  "  the  sea-side  "  and  her  desire 
to  stay  at  home.  "  The  sea-side  "  associated  with  so 

78 


THE  BACHELOR  79 

amateurish  an  instrument  seemed  a  bleak  and  uninterest- 
ing place  indeed.  Even  larger  specimens  in  wood  failed 
to  seduce  them  from  their  attitude  of  "  no  compromise," 
for  Gwenny,  too,  had  been  stung  into  resistance  by  the 
insult  their  mother's  choice  implied.  Did  she  think  they 
were  babies  of  three?  Agnes  yielded  at  last,  flinching 
under  the  eye  of  the  bazaar-keeper,  who  might  think  her 
a  harsh  mother.  (Agnes's  sensitiveness  to  public  opinion 
was  in  its  way  quite  remarkable). 

The  children  stole  round  the  room,  gazing  at  all  the 
finery  that  lay  about,  but  scarcely  daring  to  touch  any- 
thing. The  few  articles  yet  to  be  finished,  and  in  the 
sewing  of  which  they  were  to  help,  had  been  put  to- 
gether on  the  table,  of  which  only  a  single  flap  was  left 
free.  After  feasting  their  eyes  for  awhile  on  all  these 
treasures,  they  drew  chairs  over  to  the  window  and  sat 
talking,  quietly  enough,  for  fear  of  disturbing  their 
mother.  They  liked  the  feeling  of  the  early  morning 
and  the  silent  street,  and  they  enjoyed  being  at  the  top 
of  the  house  and  having  it  all  to  themselves.  The  last 
time  they  had  moved  Agnes  had  thought  of  taking  a 
lower  floor.  But  the  children  had  demurred  strongly. 
They  invested  top  floors  with  a  certain  amount  of 
mystery ;  "  you  were  so  close  to  the  roof,"  and  there 
were  wonderful  secrets  between  them  about  the  strange 
regions  that  lay  above  it.  And  then  there  was  the  stair- 
way which  it  would  have  pleased  them  to  be  able  to 
draw  up  after  them  like  a  ladder,  so  as  to  feel  in  a  house 
of  their  own  built  at  the  top  of  a  giant  tree. 

"  I  wonder  where  the  sands  lead  to? "  said  May 
musingly. 

"  Nobody  knows,"  explained  Gwenny ;  "  because  if 
you  go  too  far  the  tide  comes  in  and  you  get  drowned, 
unless  you  can  climb  up  the  high  white  cliffs.  There 
is  a  story  in  our  reading-book  of  a  boy  who 
disobeyed  his  mother  and  nearly  did  get  drowned  that 
way." 


80  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

"  But  where  do  the  high  cliffs  lead  to?  "  insisted  May, 
who  had  not  yet  begun  geography. 

"  If  you  were  to  go  for  hundreds  and  hundreds  of 
miles  to  the  North,  you  would  come  to  Scotland,"  said 
the  elder  and  more  learned  sister. 

"  Scotland !  That  is  where  St.  Andrew  came  from  in 
'  The  Seven  Knights  of  Christendom,'  "  returned  May, 
humiliated  at  her  sister's  superior  knowledge  and  anxious 
to  display  her  own. 

"  I  should  like  to  sail  over  the  sea  to  distant  coun- 
tries," said  Gwenny  irrelevantly.  She  was  now  occupied 
with  imaginings  of  her  own. 

"  Oh,"  said  May ;  "  that  would  be  splendid.  To  stand 
on  the  deck  of  a  ship  and  see  the  white  sails  fill  out  in 
the  breeze  and  nothing  but  water  as  far  as  the  eye  can 
reach ! " 

"  And  what  if  a  storm  came,"  supposed  Gwenny. 

"  I  should  love  to  see  a  storm  at  sea,"  returned  May 
ecstatically. 

"  Only  the  sailors  are  allowed  on  deck,  because  the 
waves  break  over  the  ship,"  explained  Gwenny ;  "  and 
then  you  might  be  sea-sick." 

"  Not  everybody's  sea-sick,"  returned  May  indig- 
nantly. "  Besides,  I  could  see  the  storm  through  the 
little  windows." 

"  The  ship  would  toss  up  and  down  too  much.  Per- 
haps we  may  see  a  storm  from  the  shore,  if  we're  lucky. 
I  should  like,  too,  to  see  what  a  ship  is  like  inside. 
Shouldn't  you  like  to  see  a  really  big  ship,  May  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  uncle  will  row  us  out  in  a  boat  when  he 
comes,  and  take  us  on  board  one  as  it  sails  by." 

"  The  captain  wouldn't  stop,  you  silly,"  said 
Gwenny. 

"  He  would  for  uncle,"  insisted  May,  who  had  intense 
faith  in  Hubert. 

Gwenny  was  silent.  It  seemed  disrespectful  and  even 
arrogant  on  her  part  to  attempt  to  assign  a  limit  to 


THE  BACHELOR  81 

Hubert's  influence,  and  so  May  had  the  appearance  of 
carrying  off  a  victory. 

Agnes  did  not  appear  till  eight  o'clock.  At  the  first 
glance  the  children  noticed  she  looked  rather  cross,  and 
they  at  once  formed  disagreeable  anticipations  for  the 
day.  This  first  glance  was  habitual  with  them,  for  the 
capricious  Agnes  had  a  much-varying  temper.  One 
day  affectionate,  smiling,  and  confidential,  the  next  she 
would  be  distinctly  stand-offish  and  authoritative;  and 
if  she  began  the  morning  snappishly  and  irritably,  there 
were  usually  squalls  before  bedtime.  But  all  this  was 
for  the  children  only  part  of  the  natural  order  of  things, 
and  they  did  not  know  that  all  mothers  were  not  the 
same  as  theirs. 

"  I  declare  I  haven't  had  five  minutes'  sleep  the  whole 
night,"  she  complained.  "  I  felt  all  broken  in  bits — 
what  with  slaving  all  the  week  for  your  pleasure,  my 
ladies." 

They  breakfasted  at  a  tiny  corner  of  the  table.  May 
got  into  trouble  for  making  too  many  crumbs,  and 
Gwenny  for  having  no  appetite.  Moreover  the  damaged 
lustre  happened  to  catch  their  mother's  eye  which  had 
been  wandering  round  in  search  of  something  to  annoy 
it.  The  still  absent  prism  inspired  her  to  many  severe 
observations. 

However,  after  breakfast,  all  three  got  to  work  with 
needle  and  scissors,  and  when  they  stopped  at  midday 
there  were  only  the  finishing  touches  to  be  put.  The 
afternoon  went  in  packing,  an  operation  scoldingly  car- 
ried through  by  Agnes,  who  more  than  once  succeeded 
in  making  the  children  cry. 

At  supper  she  sat  silently  at  table  with  an  air  of 
fatigue  and  sadness.  She  sipped  her  cocoa  languidly, 
her  eye-lids  downcast  as  though  she  had  a  strong  in- 
clination to  weep. 

"  It's  not  much  pleasure  I  shall  get  out  of  it,"  she 
began  at  length.  "  If  it  weren't  that  you  can't  go  alone 


82  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

I'd  much  rather  stay  at  home,"  she  said  at  last  brokenly. 

"  But  the  seaside  isn't  only  for  children,"  argued  May 
daringly. 

"  Oh,  it's  all  right  when  you've  your  own  money  to 
pay  for  things,  but  it  isn't  very  sweet  spending  other 
people's." 

"  We  can't  help  being  poor,"  said  Gwenny.  "  I'm 
sure  uncle  wants  us  to  enjoy  ourselves." 

"  Little  fool !  "  said  Agnes  witheringly.  "  Why  do 
you  think  Mr.  Ruthven  gives  us  a  seaside  holiday?  It 
is  to  satisfy  his  own  pride.  Why  do  you  think  he  gives 
us  any  money  at  all?  Because  he  is  a  grand  gentleman 
and  he  wouldn't  like  anybody  connected  with  him  to  be 
doing  low  work,  as  he  calls  it." 

"  Oh  no,  mother,"  expostulated  the  children. 

"  A  lot  you  know  about  the  world ! "  exclaimed 
Agnes  angrily.  "  But  one  day  you'll  find  out  I  was 
right.  He's  a  single  gentleman  now,  but  before  long 
he'll  be  wanting  to  marry  a  lady — one  of  your  ex- 
travagant sort.  She'll  ruin  him  sooner  than  he  thinks." 

They  looked  frightened,  but  Agnes  was  too  self- 
centred  to  notice  the  effect  she  was  producing.  She  did 
not  usually  tell  them  things  to  make  them  feel  as  miser- 
able as  she  felt,  but  simply  from  the  need  of  voicing  her 
thoughts — her  fears  and  her  resentments — in  the  hear- 
ing of  somebody.  And  these  two  little  ones  were  the 
only  bodies  to  whom  she  could  pour  herself  out.  For 
her  cronies  she  reserved  quite  another  version  of  the 
family  position,  Hubert  figuring  as  a  great  and  gen- 
erous man,  and  her  mother-in-law  as  a  county  lady  of 
the  highest  standing.  They  both  loved  and  respected 
her  and  would  do  anything  for  her  and  the  children,  but 
of  course,  her  self-respect  would  only  allow  her  to  accept 
from  them  as  much  as  would  suffice  to  bring  up  the 
children,  who  were  their  own  flesh  and  blood. 

"  After  all,  it  wouldn't  do  to  let  the  world  know  my 
bitter  situation,"  she  would  afterwards  explain  to  the 


THE  BACHELOR  83 

children,  should  they  have  happened  to  overhear  her 
entertaining  some  neighbour  with  such  amiable  con- 
fidences. "  I'm  much  too  proud,  I  am,  to  have  every- 
body pitying  me.  Oh,  no,  I  don't  want  anybody's 
pity!" 

So,  heedless  that  she  had  wantonly  dashed  their 
spirits,  she  rose  from  the  table  and  went  moodily  to  her 
bedroom.  Her  withdrawal,  however,  had  merely  a  prac- 
tical motive.  She  wished  to  transfer  to  her  purse  from 
her  private  hoard  enough  money  to  pay  their  initial 
expenses.  The  hoard,  swollen  at  one  blow  by  the  pro- 
ceeds of  Hubert's  cheque  from  fifty  to  eighty  pounds 
(more  than  ever  the  potentiality  of  a  lodging-house  of 
her  own,  should  Hubert  fail  them),  was  entirely  in  gold, 
and  was  disposed  in  a  small  linen  bag  enswathed  amid 
wadding  in  a  pretty  glove-box,  the  whole  kept  locked  in 
the  chest  of  drawers.  She  had  no  intention,  of  course, 
of  leaving  the  main  treasure  behind  her  when  departing 
from  home. 

She  unlocked  the  drawer,  pulled  it  open,  and  her 
morose  look  gave  place  to  one  of  satisfaction  as  she 
drew  out  the  long,  narrow  glove-box.  She  even  paused 
for  a  moment  to  admire  the  picture  of  the  red-coated 
hunting-man  and  the  pack  of  hounds  on  the  lid.  At 
last  she  opened  it  and  plunged  her  fingers  amid  the 
wadding.  Presently  her  expression  changed,  and  she 
tore  out  the  wadding  frantically.  Then  she  gave  a 
great  scream. 

The  children  came  running  in,  white  and  scared. 

"  What  is  it,  mother,  what  it  is  ?  " 

"  My  God !  oh,  my  God !  "  she  moaned. 

They  stood  by  in  helpless  bewilderment. 

"Little  fools,  little  fools,  don't  you  see  that  every 
farthing  has  gone?  My  God,  to  be  robbed  of  every 
farthing !  "  She  stood  trembling,  masses  of  wadding  in 
her  clenched  hands,  then  fell  a-muttering  and  a-moaning 
like  a  maniac. 


84  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

The  children  stole  over  to  her,  but  she  sank  on  to  the 
floor  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  Save  the 
death  of  her  husband,  it  was  the  greatest  catastrophe  of 
her  life! 

For  some  moments  there  was  a  terrifying  silence; 
then  came  an  hysteric  outburst  of  scream  after 
scream. 

Their  landlady  soon  came  hurrying  up,  in  almost  as 
great  a  fright  as  the  children.  What  in  Heaven's  name 
had  happened? 

"  If  you  please,  ma'am,"  said  May,  not  forgetting 
her  manners  even  at  such  a  crisis,  "  mother's  been 
robbed." 

After  some  trouble  the  landlady,  who  was  already 
trembling  at  the  possibility  of  an  accusation  against  her 
family,  managed  to  elicit  from  Agnes  the  extent  of  the 
calamity. 

"  All  my  savings  of  years,"  declared  Agries  piteously. 
"  I  toiled  and  moiled  and  wore  my  fingers  to  the  bone 
and  blinded  myself  sewing — nothing  was  too  hard  for 
me,  if  I  could  save  a  penny  by  it.  It's  enough  to  make 
a  body  kill  herself.  Oh,  my  God !  oh,  my  God !  "  And 
she  began  sobbing  again  broken-heartedly. 

The  landlady,  in  neighbourly  fashion,  did  her  best  for 
poor  Agnes,  and,  when  she  had  succeeded  in  soothing 
her  a  little,  helped  her  to  search  the  room — with  a  result 
which,  by  justifying  Agnes's  want  of  faith  in  the  pro- 
cess, gave  the  latter  a  slightly  mitigating  sensation  of 
triumph.  To  the  relief  of  the  landlady,  she  had  little 
doubt  as  to  the  culprit.  The  charwoman  whom,  on  ac- 
count of  her  busy  week  of  preparation,  she  had  had  in 
every  day  must  have  got  some  knowledge  of  the  treasure, 
and  have  found  a  key  to  fit  the  lock  of  the  drawer, 
As  the  woman's  address  was  known  to  both,  the  land- 
lady suggested  they  should  go  there  immediately.  Agnes 
shook  her  head.  By  this  time  the  woman  was  probably 
in  New  Zealand!  Nevertheless,  she  was  ultimately  in- 


THE  BACHELOR  85 

duced  to  put  on  her  bonnet  and  totter  out  on  the  other's 
arm. 

The  children  returned  to  the  sitting-room,  where  they 
waited  in  suspense,  scarcely  daring  to  interchange  a 
word.  Occasionally  they  let  their  eyes  rest  mournfully 
on  the  packed  boxes,  on  the  pails,  the  spades,  the  gaudy 
indiarubber  balls ;  for  somehow  they  felt  "  the  seaside  " 
had  moved  off  to  an  infinite  distance. 

When  eventually  they  heard  the  two  women  enter  the 
house  again  they  could  not  help  feeling  vaguely  hope- 
ful. But  the  tears  that  were  running  down  their  mother's 
cheeks  pointed  only  too  clearly  to  failure.  The  char- 
woman, a  vague  widow  who  had  been  occupying  a 
furnished  room  in  a  poor  back  street,  had  altogether 
disappeared. 

The  calamity  was  irretrievable. 

The  landlady  sat  with  them  for  awhile,  but  had  to  go 
down  at  last  to  put  her  own  children  to  bed.  Agnes 
cried  quietly  for  a  long  time,  and  then  sat  as  one 
stunned. 

Long  into  the  night  the  children  lay  awake  listening 
to  the  dulled  sound  of  her  moaning  and  sobbing. 


XI 

f  f  UBERT  jumped  out  of  bed  with  the  fear  that 

m     m         he  had  overslept  himself,  and  was  relieved  to 

Jl    M          find  it  was  only  a  few  minutes  after  seven. 

By  half-past  seven  he  had   dressed;   then, 

swallowing  a  cup  of  coffee,  which  he  had  boiled  over  a 

spirit-lamp,  he  took  up  his  hat  with  the  intention  of 

proceeding  at  once  to  the  railway  station. 

But  at  that  moment  an  unexpected  visitor  came 
knocking — a  respectable-looking,  bonneted  young  woman 
whose  features  were  vaguely  familiar  to  him,  though  he 
could  not  definitely  recall  her.  She  was  quite  breathless 
and  evidently  much  agitated,  despite  her  attempt  to 
give  him  a  calm  "  Good-morning,  sir,"  as  she  followed 
him  into  his  study  in  response  to  his  invitation. 

"  I've  come  from  27,  Lissold-street,"  she  explained, 
observing  he  was  waiting  for  her  to  speak.  "  I  am  Mrs. 
Carter." 

Agnes's  landlady,  he  recollected  now!  He  had  once 
or  twice  caught  sight  of  her  on  his  visits  to  the  house. 

"  You  bring  me  some  message  from  Mrs.  Ruthven,  I 
presume." 

He  saw  her  lips  twitch  nervously  and  her  eyes  gleam 
at  him  strangely. 

"  I'm  afraid  I've  bad  news  for  you,  sir,"  she  breathed 
at  last. 

They  faced  each  other  for  an  intense  moment,  then 
with  abrupt  determination  she  let  him  have  the  worst 
at  once. 

"  Mrs.  Ruthven  cut  her  throat  in  the  night.  Tliis 
morning  we  found  her  stone  dead." 

Hubert  was  at  first  merely  aware  that  the  woman  had 

86 


THE  BACHELOR  87 

said  something ;  there  was  an  appreciable  interval  before 
he  found  he  had  grasped  what.  He  noted  almost  grate- 
fully that  he  was  calm  and  collected. 

"  I  had  better  come  at  once,"  he  said  quietly. 

"  If  you  will,  sir,"  said  the  young  woman. 

They  went  off  in  a  cab,  Mrs.  Carter  enlightening  him 
on  the  journey  about  the  whole  affair.  How  pitifully 
unnecessary  this  crowning  act  of  Agnes  seemed  to  him. 
Why,  he  would  merely  have  smiled  at  the  catastrophe 
that  had  depressed  her  mind  to  insanity,  and  would  have 
replaced  the  lost  hoard  twice  over! 

But  he  could  not  think  too  much,  for  his  companion, 
who  had  expended  all  her  powers  of  directness  in  con- 
veying the  news  to  him,  had  now  yielded  to  a  natural 
volubility  that  was  scarcely  characterized  by  orderliness 
and  precision.  Sometimes,  disturbed  by  her  proximity 
to  so  deep  a  drama  and  so  fine  a  gentleman,  she  lost 
herself  altogether,  and  her  excited  tongue  floundered 
into  incoherence.  He  helped  and  guided  her  as  far  as 
possible,  eliciting  that  the  children  had  cried  for  him, 
and  that  she  had  taken  them  down  to  her  own  parlour, 
where  she  had  left  them  in  the  company  of  her  own 
little  girl. 

The  cab  drew  up  outside  the  little  house.  A  crowd 
of  neighbours  and  children  were  gathered  round  the 
garden  gate.  A  burly  sergeant  of  police  stood  in  the 
doorway. 

After  a  brief  conversation  with  the  officer,  Hubert 
accompanied  Mrs.  Carter  into  the  house.  He  would  not 
go  up-stairs  now,  but  thought  it  best  to  take  the  chil- 
dren away  at  once. 

He  found  them  cowed  and  silent,  their  eye-lids  red 
and  their  faces  tear-stained.  The  landlady's  little  girl 
sat  eyeing  them  stiffly,  quite  unequal  to  the  task  of 
administering  comfort.  At  sight  of  Hubert  they 
jumped  up  eagerly  and  came  to  him.  He  kissed  them 
gently. 


88  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

"  What  are  we  to  do  without  mother?  "  asked  May, 
bursting  into  tears  again.  "  It  will  be  so  lonely  upstairs 
all  by  ourselves,  and,  besides,  we  can't  cook." 

"  Oh,  I've  come  to  fetch  you  away,  little  girls,"  said 
Hubert  huskily.  "  I  want  you  to  come  and  live  with 
me — if  you'll  let  me  take  you." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  they  cried.  "  Take  us,  uncle ;  please  take 
us." 


Book  II 
The  Guardian 


y  TT  UBERT  had  much  to  do  during  the  next  week 
m     m         or  two,  though  dazed  by  the  sudden  tragedy, 
M    M.          and,  despite  all  the  bustle,  only  half  believ- 
ing in  it.     Yet  the  inquest  on  poor  Agnes, 
the  funeral,  and  the  dispersion  of  her  little  home  were 
saddening  realities,  alleviated  only  by  the  kindness  of 
his  friends  towards  the  children.     Hubert  had  been  un- 
willing to  place  them  under  the  care  of  a  stranger,  and 
he  was  more  than  grateful  when  Marvin,  an  artist  friend 
of  his  own  and  Preston's,  who  lived  in  Tite-street,  with 
a  sister  to  keep  house  for  him,  offered  to  take  charge 
of  them  till  Hubert  could  carry  out  what  he  had  in  con- 
templation, to  wit,  to  establish  himself  in  the  country 
within  the  hour's  journey  from  town. 

Though  the  shock  the  children  had  sustained  was 
too  great  to  be  thrown  off  at  once,  the  change  of  life, 
delighted  in  itself,  helped  greatly  to  distract  them. 
Marvin,  a  great  bearded  figure  in  an  ancient  velvet 
jacket,  with  a  thick  black  head  of  hair,  enormous  fea- 
tures, and  a  laugh  that  had  in  it  something  of  the 
power  of  an  organ  roll,  seemed  to  them  one  of  those 
friendly  giants  that  make  such  faithful  henchmen  to 
handsome  little  princes.  Being  a  childless  widower,  he 
was  as  pleased  with  them  as  they  were  with  him,  and 
gave  them  the  free  run  of  his  studio,  an  apartment  of 
generous  spaces  and  full  of  objects  to  wonder  over. 
Marvin  happened  to  be  working  just  then  with  an 
Italian  model  dressed  as  a  cardinal,  and  the  children 
would  sit  in  half-awed,  shy  silence,  following  with  their 
eyes  the  luscious  strokes  of  the  painter's  brush,  or  watch- 

91 


92  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

ing  the  intent  expression  of  his  large  features,  as  every 
now  and  again  he  stood  away  from  the  canvas  to  scruti- 
nize it,  or  level  the  brush  at  the  model  in  mysterious 
measurement. 

At  intervals,  and  all  while  working,  Marvin  would 
relate  to  them  the  most  wonderful  things — including 
legends  about  the  strange  figures  carved  on  his  crumb- 
ling oak  cabinets,  and  eye-opening  explanations  of  the 
pictures  on  the  strange  old  screens  or  on  the  seats  and 
backs  of  some  of  the  chairs.  And,  when  they  were  not 
in  the  studio,  there  was  Miss  Marvin — the  sister — to 
see  they  were  contentedly  occupied.  She  was  a  gentle 
lady,  and  bestowed  endless  attention  on  them.  Besides, 
Preston,  who  had  now  made  their  acquaintance,  came 
to  see  them  every  day,  and  often  when  Hubert  arrived 
in  the  late  afternoon  he  would  find  his  friend  had 
decamped  with  one  or  other  of  them. 

For  the  first  time  the  children  had  the  sensation  of 
never  being  scolded.  Miss  Marvin,  indeed,  appeared 
to  them  an  extraordinarily  confiding  person,  who  neither 
screamed  at  them,  nor  threatened,  nor  wept,  and  who 
had,  somehow,  not  yet  discovered  they  were  inherently 
wicked  with  the  wickedness  of  their  father's  family.  So 
well,  in  fact,  did  they  stand  in  her  good  graces  that 
they  trembled  lest  she  should  find  them  out. 

Hubert's  new  arrangements  were  meanwhile  pro- 
gressing. His  new  duties  and  interests  so  possessed  him, 
indeed,  that  he  never  once  caught  himself  puzzling 
again  about  Miss  Hardynge's  features.  That  charm- 
ing young  person  had,  in  fact,  got  totally  banished  from 
his  mind.  And  as  for  his  engagement  to  visit  Pres- 
ton's sister  in  Flintshire,  he  had  preferred  to  break  that 
off  now ;  likewise  thinking  it  best  to  refuse  her  friendly 
suggestion  (for  which  he  was  nevertheless  deeply  grate- 
ful) that  the  children  should  be  included  in  the  invita- 
tion, or,  at  least,  be  sent  down  to  stay  with  her  till 
his  own  new  home  was  ready.  He  did  not  wish  to  lose 


THE  GUARDIAN  93 

any  time  now,  and  the  children  were  too  shy  to  wel- 
come the  idea  of  going  away  from  him  entirely. 

And  when,  after  some  inquiry  and  searching,  he 
finally  took  possession  of  a  small  old-world  house,  ready 
furnished,  that  stood  in  some  few  acres  of  ground  amid 
undulating  landscape,  the  prospect  would  have  seemed 
of  the  pleasantest  were  it  not  for  the  shadow  cast  by 
the  tragedy  that  alone  had  made  it  possible. 

The  world,  somehow,  seemed  all  changed  now  as  if 
some  mighty  hand  had  seized  it  and  given  it  a  twist; 
Hubert,  indeed,  never  having  rid  himself  of  his  first 
bewilderment  at  the  change.  So  great  was  his  sense  of 
responsibility  for  the  two  precious  lives  committed  to 
his  care  that  he  went  about  hushed  and  solemn,  with 
the  feeling  as  of  a  whole  planet  dependent  on  him. 


n 

rHE  children's  new-found  friends  were  loath  to 
part  with  them,  but  the  time  to  say  "  good- 
bye "  had  at  last  arrived.     It  was  a  beautiful 
morning  when  May  and  Gwenny  drove  off 
with  Hubert  to  catch  an  early  train  for  Lynford — the 
quaint  little  town  within  easy  reach  of  which  their  new 
home  was  situated. 

August  was  only  just  drawing  to  an  end,  and  the  best 
of  Hubert's  vacation  was  still  before  him;  so  that  he 
would  be  able  to  spend  all  his  time  with  the  children 
in  order  to  start  them  off  in  their  new  life  with  a  delight- 
ful holiday.  In  the  weeks  that  had  elapsed  since  the 
tragedy,  they  had,  to  a  large  extent,  been  able  to  throw 
off  the  cloud — thanks  to  the  efforts  of  their  big  friends ; 
and  he  was,  above  all,  anxious  to  keep  them  forgetful 
of  their  grief.  Terribly  as  Agnes  had  plagued  them, 
her  love  for  them,  as  he  knew,  had  had  primitive  depths, 
and  they  certainly  had  loved  her  in  return  as  little  chil- 
dren always  love  their  mother.  And  thus,  whenever  the 
thought  of  her  thrust  itself  into  their  minds,  they  would 
begin  to  cry  almost  hysterically.  But  that,  happily, 
was  only  at  moments;  for  grief  cannot  prevail  against 
the  swift  blood  of  tender  years. 

The  great  Waterloo  terminus  proved  an  exciting  and 
absorbing  wonder — what  with  its  mighty  iron  pillars 
and  marvellous  network  of  a  roof,  and  great  jostling 
crowds,  and  porters  a-wheeling  trolleys  piled  high  with 
holiday  luggage,  and  mysterious  doors  on  all  sides  lead- 
ing to  strange  interiors,  and  equally  puzzling  windows 
that  had  a  provoking  air  of  refusing  to  explain  them- 

94 


THE  GUARDIAN  95 

selves.  Then  they  were  half-dazed  by  all  the  fearful 
noises — the  stir  of  myriad  comings  and  goings,  the 
clanking  of  steel,  the  hissing  of  steam,  the  sudden 
screech  of  engines  that  set  their  hearts  a-thumping. 

At  last  they  were  seated  in  their  carriage.  But  even 
before  the  train  began  to  move  there  were  many  delect- 
able objects  within  reach  of  vision  of  which  they  eagerly 
sought  explanation — the  stands  full  of  big  lamps,  the 
signal  boxes,  the  odd  poles  with  coloured  cross-pieces 
at  the  summit  that  raised  and  depressed  themselves,  the 
assemblage  of  signals  that  stretched  athwart  the  sky 
like  a  complicated  bar  of  music  in  mid-air,  and  last, 
but  not  least,  they  were  fascinated  by  the  empty  space 
between  them  and  the  other  platform,  into  which  an 
incoming  train  came  presently  gliding,  the  pistons  work- 
ing in  and  out  of  the  cylinders  so  smoothly,  the  strange 
grooved  wheels  taking  the  rails  so  easily. 

Then  came  the  last  spurt  of  activity  on  the  platform, 
the  hurrying  of  belated  passengers,  the  slamming  of 
doors,  and — great  delicious  moment ! — off  they  went 
slowly,  slowly,  quicker,  quicker 

It  was  an  enchanted  hour  as  they  sped  through  the 
summer  landscapes.  The  panorama  of  the  country,  ripe 
under  the  autumn  sun,  unrolled  itself  before  them  in 
splendid  stretches  of  field  and  common  and  wooded  hill- 
side, with  scattered  cattle,  and  thatched  houses,  and 
gleaming  spires  in  the  distance,  and  grey  church  towers ; 
with  lovely  wayside  pools  and  winding  rivers  that  re- 
flected the  laughing  skies  and  the  overhanging  willows. 
Sometimes  a  slow  goods-train  would  come  dragging  itself 
along,  picturesquely  laden  with  gravel,  sand,  coal, 
mould,  and  nice-looking  machinery,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  endless  trucks  of  all  shapes  and  sizes,  from  the  win- 
dows of  some  of  which  meek-eyed  horses  would  thrust 
out  their  patient  heads.  And  sometimes  everything 
would  tantalizingly  disappear,  hidden  from  the  view 
by  high  chalky  embankments,  exciting  harbingers — 


96  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

false  harbingers  sometimes! — of  a  sudden  plunge  into 
darkness. 

Hubert  caught  the  eagerness  of  the  children,  feeling 
his  jaded  senses  reviving  and  freshening.  Things  took 
on  a  new  sharpness  of  outline,  a  new  interest  and 
beauty.  Something  of  the  far-off  feeling  of  his  own 
childhood  came  back  to  him,  of  the  immeasurable  joy 
of  the  first  years  of  life  in  mere  existence,  in  breathing, 
moving,  in  the  exercise  of  the  senses.  He  was  seeing 
as  they  saw,  and  was  almost  tremulously  happy  as  he 
watched  their  deep  delight,  now  repressed,  now  breaking 
out  in  excited  exclamation. 

"  How  wonderful  it  is  to  see  all  the  things  we  have 
read  about  in  books !  "  said  Gwenny  almost  breathlessly, 
as  they  flew  past  a  farmstead  with  thatched  out-buildings 
and  hayricks,  and  horses,  cows  and  poultry  a-feeding. 

"  Oh,  but  look  this  side ! "  exclaimed  May,  who  was 
stationed  at  the  opposite  window. 

They  had  the  carriage  to  themselves,  and  the  children 
kept  passing  from  one  side  to  the  other,  distracted  by 
the  double  panorama  from  fidelity  to  the  charms  of 
either. 

Lynford  came  all  too  soon,  but  their  envy  of  the 
other  people  in  the  train  who  were  going  on  further 
was  quickly  displaced  by  their  eager  curiosity  as  to  the 
experiences  that  were  immediately  to  follow. 

Soon,  to  their  surprise,  they  found  they  were  to  be 
driven  to  their  new  home  by  their  own  man  in  their 
own  trap ! — for  Hubert  had  engaged  the  very  respect- 
able and  trustworthy  couple  who  had  been  at  the  house 
for  several  years  past,  as  they  were  willing  to  under- 
take the  entire  work,  and  the  man  had  had  the  garden 
under  his  special  care. 

In  a  few  minutes  they  were  clear  of  the  sleepy  town 
and  cutting  along  through  the  pretty  countryside  be- 
tween cornfields  and  rich  common,  with  hills  in  the  dis- 
tance on  either  hand.  Eventually  they  turned  off  the 


THE  GUARDIAN  97 

main  road  into  an  old  lane  that  wound  its  way  between 
high  hedgerows ;  and  presently  it  began  to  descend  and 
ran  through  a  wood  of  pine-trees  that  scented  the  air 
deliciously.  A  little  later  on  they  were  passing  between 
a  long  cobble-stone  garden  wall  on  their  right  and  a 
pine-covered  slope  that  rose  sharply  on  their  left  and 
stretched  away  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach.  Here- 
abouts lay  some  score  of  houses,  all  delightfully  scattered 
and  hidden.  And  surely  their  own  house  was  the  most 
hidden  of  all.  For  though  the  children  from  their  seat 
in  the  vehicle  could  command  a  view  of  two  or  three  of 
the  houses  and  of  bits  of  some  others,  they  were  much 
astonished  when  the  trap  pulled  up,  a  moment  or  two 
later,  apparently  in  the  middle  of  an  avenue  over-roofed 
by  boughs  from  both  sides. 

They  got  down  and  Hubert  took  them  through  a  little 
rusty  wooden  gate,  and  along  a  path  that  wound  steeply 
upwards  and  lost  itself  in  the  thick  of  the  plantation. 
The  empty  trap  had  driven  off  at  once. 

"  Is  this  the  way  to  the  house?  "  they  asked. 

"  Yes,  the  back  way,"  he  chuckled."  "  The  trap  has 
gone  round  to  the  front." 

He  had  done  this  purposely  to  let  them  get  a  be- 
wildering glimpse  of  their  whole  domain,  of  which  here 
was  the  extreme  boundary.  They  followed  the  tortuous 
path  through  their  own  little  forest,  then  emerged  into 
a  splendid  field,  prettily  hedged  in  and  all  grown  wild 
with  tangled  grass  and  oats  knee-deep.  But,  keeping 
to  their  path,  they  skirted  round  it,  and  eventually  passed 
through  another  little  gate  in  full  sight  of  the  house 
standing  at  the  end  of  a  beautiful  lawn.  And  all  along 
the  sides  were  lovely  flower-beds,  and  here  and  there 
large  glass-houses;  and  beyond  everything  again  were 
more  thick  plantations.  The  house  itself  was  built  on 
three  floors,  with  many  gables,  and  with  a  verandah  all 
round  it.  There  were  also  several  outbuildings — sheds 
and  stabling  and  coach-house. 


98  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

They  crossed  the  lawn  and  passed  round  the  verandah 
to  the  front  of  the  house.  Here  was  another  beautiful 
lawn  with  a  great  cluster  of  bushes  in  the  centre,  and 
many  flower-beds  and  thick  shrubberies  all  round.  On 
the  other  side  of  the  hedgerow  that  bounded  this  smaller 
garden  ran  the  main  roadway,  and  a  broad  gravel  drive 
led  from  the  barred  carriage-gate  right  up  to  the  quaint 
trellised  porch  of  the  front  door.  Across  the  road  some 
neighbour's  plantation  shot  up  behind  a  high  wall,  so 
that  altogether  they  were  perfectly  secluded. 

The  children  ran  to  the  gate  to  wait  for  the  expected 
trap,  and,  sure  enough,  it  came  along  after  a  few  min- 
utes, for  it  had  had  to  go  a  long  distance  round.  They 
were  quite  pleased  to  see  it  again,  though  they  had 
a  delightfully  vague  feeling  about  the  geography  of 
this  enchanted  region,  and  the  way  the  reappearance 
of  the  trap  had  been  effected. 


Ill 

y^FTER  looking  over  the  house,   full  of  unex- 

ZJ       pected  and  often  mysterious  nooks  and  corners, 

^  M.         the  children  were  installed  in  their  own  room 

by  Mrs.  Armstrong,  a  motherly  body  whom 

they  liked  at  once.     They  had  an  outlook  sideways  over 

the  tops  of  the  trees  and  right  away  across  rich  country 

that  was  dotted  with  old  black  mills.      Moreover,  the 

room  had  actually  five  sides,  besides  a  deep  alcove  and  a 

great  ancient  hearth  and  fireplace;  so  that  they  could 

not  make  up  their  minds  whether  it  would  be  jollier  to 

stop  there  most  of  the  time  or  to  play  in  the  grounds, 

to  say  nothing  of  the  temptation  of  the  strange  lofts 

and  garrets. 

Hubert  himself  had  taken  possession  of  the  drawing- 
room  and  converted  it  into  a  study.  It  was  a  pleasant 
chamber  at  the  back  of  the  house,  opening  on  the 
verandah  through  two  French  windows.  There  was  also 
a  fine  bay  window  at  the  side  that  looked  out  through 
a  slight  break  in  the  plantation  on  a  splendid  view  of 
distant  hills.  Here  was  massed  together  everything  that 
had  come  up  from  Pump  Court  (including  the  Dutch 
escritoire  and  the  old  Frisian  clock)  ;  and  the  shelves, 
newly  fitted  up,  were  ready  to  receive  the  heaps  and 
heaps  of  volumes.  Gwenny  and  May,  stealing  down 
from  above,  found  Hubert  already  busily  at  work,  and 
were  mightily  pleased  at  being  allowed  to  help  him. 

They  were  thus  happily  occupied  till  lunch-time,  when 
they  sat  down  to  the  most  delicious  meal  they  had  ever 
eaten.  In  the  afternoon  Hubert  had  letters  to  write, 
so  the  children  went  wandering  into  the  garden,  intent 
on  exploration.  But  they  could  not  at  all  make  up  their 

99 


100  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

minds  where  to  begin.  They  kept  passing  round  the 
verandah  from  the  front  to  the  back,  and  from  the  back 
to  the  front,  lingering,  of  course,  under  the  drawing- 
room  side  window  where  the  break  in  the  trees  revealed 
the  big  landscape.  At  last  they  made  for  the  wood 
right  at  the  end,  retracing  the  long,  complicated  way 
to  the  little  rusty  gate  by  which  they  had  entered  in 
the  morning.  Then  the  exploration  began  in  earnest. 

In  the  course  of  the  afternoon  they  made  several 
delightful  discoveries.  One  they  were  particularly 
pleased  with  was  of  a  secret  path  running  behind  a 
shrubbery  that  was  parallel  with  the  lawn,  and  leading 
eventually  past  the  kitchen  windows  and  right  to  the 
front  of  the  house,  where  they  were  surprised  to  find 
themselves  again.  They  peeped  into  the  vinery  and 
glass-houses,  and  they  found  many  splendid  hiding- 
places  through  dipping  at  random  into  the  dim  depths 
of  the  plantations  that  skirted  the  garden  everywhere — 
though  always  to  find  themselves  stopped  in  the  end  by 
some  overgrown  fence  or  cobble-stone  wall  that  sternly 
bounded  the  domain.  Finally,  for  a  change  they  chased 
each  other  through  the  wild-grown  field,  their  little 
bodies  sometimes  completely  lost  to  view  where  the 
tangles  were  thickest.  London  was  already  forgotten. 

They  came  back  at  tea-time  with  glowing  cheeks  and 
sparkling  eyes,  happy,  laughing,  and  full  of  their  dis- 
coveries. 

Meantime  Hubert  had  finished  his  correspondence. 
Most  important  of  all  these  letters  was  the  one  to  his 
mother — the  first  he  had  addressed  to  her  for  over  two 
years.  Once  or  twice  before  he  had  sat  down  to  inform 
her  of  all  that  had  happened,  but  he  had  never  carried 
out  the  intention.  He  did  not  know  what  view  she 
might  take  of  the  position,  or,  if  she  took  any  notice 
of  the  communication  at  all,  in  what  way  she  might 
attempt  to  hamper  him.  To  avoid  trying  emotions  for 
both,  he  had  decided  to  wait  till  he  had  taken  his  house 


THE  GUARDIAN  101 

and  got  everything  settled.  Even  now  it  had  been  a 
difficult  letter  for  him  to  write,  and,  after  much  con- 
sideration he  had  thought  it  best  to  limit  himself  to  a 
statement  of  the  facts,  to  make  no  reference  to  old 
hostilities,  and  to  assume  by  implication  it  was  natural 
for  him  to  write  to  her  and  for  her  to  be  interested 
in  what  concerned  him  so  deeply.  Indeed,  he  ended 
by  taking  her  into  his  confidence,  telling  her  how  con- 
tent he  was  now  in  this  little  place  of  his  own,  and 
how  he  looked  forward  to  supervising  the  education  of 
the  children  and  making  them  as  happy  as  possible. 
He  concluded  with  the  hope  that  he  might  bring  them 
one  day  to  see  her,  and  remained  her  affectionate  son. 


IV 
Mrs.  Ruthven  replied  almost  immediately. 

"  MY  DEAR  HUBERT — 

"  How  foolish  of  you  with  your  inexperience  to  at- 
tempt to  set  up  house  for  yourself.  From  your  de- 
scription of  the  place  I  feel  sure  you  have  been  finely 
imposed  upon.  It  seems  to  be  a  mere  barn,  and  it  will 
certainly  come  tumbling  about  your  ears  long  before 
the  end  of  the  term  for  which  you  were  rash  enough 
to  take  it  at  so  exorbitant  a  rental.  Two  hundred 
pounds,  too,  for  a  few  shabby  sticks,  when  so  much 
furniture  just  now  is  to  be  picked  up  for  a  mere  song! 
I  cannot  rest  in  peace  while  you  are  throwing  away 
money  that  has  been  so  hard-earned.  It  makes  my 
heart  bleed  to  think  of  the  years  I  pinched  and  pinched, 
and  now  the  fruits  of  my  self-denial  are  to  be  squandered 
without  a  thought.  Of  course  what  has  been  done 
cannot  be  undone,  but  I  should  be  failing  in  my  duty 
if  I  did  not  warn  you  against  these  wasteful  courses  for 
the  future.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  alarmed  I  am  at  the 
idea  of  your  entrusting  the  whole  management  of  your 
household  to  a  servant  who  is  quite  a  stranger  to  you,  and 
who  will  be  tempted  to  take  advantage  of  you  at  every 
point — especially  as  you  are  perfectly  ignorant  of  the 
details  of  keeping  house.  It  would  be  different  if  you 
were  married  to  a  nice  domesticated  girl  of  good  family, 
with  some  fortune  of  her  own !  But  without  such  a 
mistress  to  control  expenditure  and  check  waste  it  was 
nothing  less  than  madness  to  do  what  you  have  done. 
The  best  I  can  think  of  for  you  is  to  send  you  my  own 
Martha  Chapman.  She  has  been  with  me  over  twenty 

102 


THE  GUARDIAN  103 

years,  I  have  trained  her  perfectly,  and  she  is  trust- 
worthy and  capable.  She  will  make  you  an  efficient 
housekeeper,  and  although  it  is  a  great  hardship  for  me 
to  part  with  her,  I  will  yet  suffer  the  inconvenience  for 
your  sake.  Indeed,  I  have  no  idea  what  I  shall  do 
without  her.  I  need  hardly  say  she  is  most  economical 
and  will  put  her  foot  down  most  firmly  against  all  waste- 
fulness. She  will  certainly  save  her  cost  five  times  over, 
and  if  your  present  servants  make  any  nonsense  about 
her,  send  them  packing. 

"  Your  affectionate  mother, 

"  HELEN  RUTHVEN." 

Whereat  Hubert  laughed  and  rubbed  his  hands  in 
high  good  humour,  even  though  she  had,  as  yet,  said 
not  a  word  about  the  children.  He  at  once  wrote  again, 
saying  he  was  quite  certain  Martha  Chapman  would  be 
an  invaluable  acquisition  to  any  household,  and  he  did 
not  know  how  to  thank  her  enough  for  her  kindness 
in  being  so  ready  to  surrender  so  indispensable  a  servant. 
It  would,  however,  be  selfish  of  him  to  accept  such  a 
sacrifice  from  her,  so  that  he  thought  he  had  best  try 
to  rub  along  as  well  as  he  could.  He  managed  to  ex- 
press these  sentiments  without  any  touch  of  sarcasm. 

A  morning  or  two  later  he  received  his  mother's  final 
mandate.  "  It  is  my  wish  that  Martha  Chapman  goes 
to  you  at  once.  For  Heaven's  sake  don't  begin  to 
show  consideration  for  me  at  this  eleventh  hour.  You've 
shown  precious  little  all  your  life,  so  I  certainly  don't 
want  you  to  begin  to  think  about  my  convenience  and 
talk  about  my  sacrifices  now.  May  the  Almighty  for- 
give that  poor  creature  for  the  wrong  she  did  to  my 
Edward." 

Immediately  after  lunch  on  the  same  day,  when  Hu- 
bert had  sat  down  at  his  desk  and  was  on  the  point 
of  assuring  his  mother  that  he  desired  nothing  better 
than  the  prompt  arrival  of  Martha  Chapman,  he  heard 


104  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

a  vehicle  driving  up  to  the  porch,  and,  in  a  minute, 
to  his  great  astonishment,  his  mother  herself  stood  in 
the  doorway  of  his  study.  There  was  an  appreciable 
interval  before  he  had  presence  of  mind  enough  to 
throw  down  his  pen  and  rise. 

His  mother  had  scarcely  changed  in  the  last  couple  of 
years.  Dressed  simply  in  black,  she  was  of  middle 
height  and  rather  squarely  built,  though  with  no  inclina- 
tion to  stoutness.  Her  silvery  hair  seemed  to  set  off 
the  more  the  strength  of  her  virile  features;  her  eyes 
were  black  and  piercing  and  deep-set  under  a  high 
forehead.  She  came  stamping  into  the  room  with  a  dig- 
nified stiffness  that  suggested  rheumatism  and  good- 
breeding. 

"  I  thought  so,"  were  her  first  words.  "  The  paving 
outside  the  porch  is  all  cracked  and  broken,  and  the 
carriage-gate  hasn't  had  a  coat  of  paint  for  years. 
Where  were  your  wits,  clever  Hubert,  when  you  agreed 
to  give  a  hundred  a  year  for  this  tumble-down  place." 

"  Is  there  any  paving  outside  the  porch?  "  he  asked 
himself  under  his  breath,  cursing  his  masculine  un- 
observant eye.  "  But  you  must  have  been  travelling  for 
hours,"  he  exclaimed.  "  You  must  be  fagged  out,  and 
I'm  sure  you've  had  no  lunch  to-day." 

"  Oh,  we  had  a  biscuit  and  some  lemonade — horrible 
grassy  stuff !  "  grumbled  Mrs.  Ruthven.  She  permitted 
him  to  kiss  her,  though  apparently  she  displayed  no 
enthusiasm  about  it.  "  But  come,  I  don't  like  the  looks 
of  you  any  more  than  I  like  the  looks  of  your  house. 
You've  not  been  taking  proper  care  of  yourself."  De- 
spite her  sedulous  heed  to  exhibit  no  sign  of  propitiation 
there  was  a  distinct  shade  of  anxiety  in  her  voice. 

"  It  was  so  stuffy  in  town,  and  I  dare  say  I  over- 
worked a  bit,  but  I'll  soon  pull  round  again.  You've 
brought  Chapman  with  you  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  And  I  dare  say  you  can  give  me  a  bed 
to-night.  I'll  look  over  the  place  and  just  talk  over 


THE  GUARDIAN  105 

things  with  her;  after  which  I  must  leave  you  to  do  the 
best  you  can  between  you.  She's  in  the  fly  at  the  door 
with  her  boxes,  but  I  think  it  was  high  time  she  got 
down  and  came  into  the  house.  Which  reminds  me — 
I  must  go  and  pay  the  man." 

"  Be  seated,  mother,  please.     I'll  see  to  everything." 

"  Two  shillings — not  a  penny  more,"  she  called  after 
him.  "  That  was  the  bargain.  And  you  might  tell  the 
servant  to  give  poor  Martha  a  bite  of  something.  She 
must  be  quite  faint." 

"  I  hope  you  didn't  give  the  man  a  penny  more  than 
his  two  shillings,"  said  Mrs.  Ruthven  when  Hubert  en- 
tered the  room  again.  "  He  misrepresented  the  distance, 
the  impertinent  fellow!  And  now  I  think  I'll  look  over 
the  house.  No,  no,  don't  disturb  yourself — I  can  find 
my  way  about." 

"  They've  put  your  bag  in  the  front  room  just  above," 
said  Hubert,  giving  his  mother  her  head,  and  almost 
smiling  at  the  volley  of  sharp  criticism  she  was  certain 
to  fire  at  him  on  her  return  from  her  expedition. 

While  she  was  away  upstairs,  he  had  some  lunch  pre- 
pared for  her,  then  spent  the  time  before  her  reappear- 
ance in  amused  reflection.  Evidently  she  had  taken  pos- 
session of  the  place,  and  he  had  but  little  doubt  it  would 
now  remain  under  her  sovereignty.  She  would  hold 
the  personal  representative  she  was  now  installing  di- 
rectly responsible  to  her  for  the  conduct  of  affairs,  and 
elaborate  inquiries,  instructions  and  counsel  would  from 
time  to  time  issue  from  head-quarters.  All  this  he  did 
not  mind,  so  long  as  she  took  the  children  into  her  good 
graces. 

In  paying  him  this  visit,  he  argued,  she  must  have 
come  prepared  to  see  them.  But  he  thought  it  would  be 
a  pity  to  call  them  in  at  once  and  make  them  submit  to 
the  ordeal  of  a  formal  presentation  to  so  terribly  critical 
a  person,  who  had  certainly  no  bias  in  their  favour  to 
begin  with.  Better,  he  decided,  for  her  to  come  across 


106  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

them  as  they  chased  each  other  through  the  tangled  field 
— he  supposed  they  were  just  then  engaged  in  that  en- 
chanting diversion — when  any  untidiness  resulting  from 
the  romp  could  scarcely  be  counted  against  them. 

When  Mrs.  Ruthven  descended  again  Hubert  was  able 
to  coax  her  into  eating  some  lunch. 

"  The  view  isn't  at  all  bad  from  the  window,"  she 
admitted ;  "  and  the  air  is  quite  good.  But  the  house 
is  dear — very !  " 

Hubert  explained  it  was  the  garden  had  attracted 
him — he  had  fallen  in  love  with  that  at  first  sight,  so 
that  he  had  scarcely  considered  the  house. 

"  It's  a  pity,"  said  his  mother  vaguely,  and  she  went 
on  to  entertain  him  with  details  of  houses  and  rental 
values  in  her  own  neighbourhood.  She  also  commented 
unfavourably  on  his  distance  from  town  and  the  expense 
of  the  daily  journeys.  But  of  course,  the  mischief  had 
been  done  and  he  understood  his  own  business  best.  She, 
of  course,  would  not  be  led  into  offering  him  advice ;  she 
had  long  since  learnt  he  must  be  allowed  to  go  his  own 
way,  even  to  the  extent  of  misconducting  his  whole  life. 
It  was  really  ridiculous  for  a  man  to  make  up  his  mind 
to  be  an  old  bachelor — with  so  many  nice  girls  in  the 
world,  too.  But,  of  course,  she  wasn't  going  to  say 
another  word  about  that.  Even  if  he  had  taken  poor 
Edward's  two  little  girls,  that  was  no  reason  why  he 
should  give  up  the  idea  of  marrying.  On  the  contrary, 
he  ought  to  look  about  him  all  the  more,  especially  as 
he  was  settled  in  a  house  of  his  own.  Besides,  who  was 
there  to  look  after  the  children?  Did  he  mean  them  to 
run  wild  whilst  he  was  doing  his  work  miles  away? 

Hubert  set  forth  his  ideas,  how  he  intended  to  find 
some  nice  governess  in  the  neighbourhood  to  spend  the 
mornings  with  them;  for  he  meant  they  should  work  as 
well  as  play. 

"  You  ought  to  get  some  elderly  person,  to  my  think- 
ing," said  Mrs.  Ruthven. 


THE  GUARDIAN  107 

"  Oh,  I  shan't  fall  in  love  with  the  young  person," 
Hubert  assured  her  laughingly. 

But  his  mother  didn't  like  that  kind  of  jest  and  took 
him  up  rather  sharply.  "  You  may  fall  in  love  with 
whom  you  please.  I  have  long  since  ceased  to  interest 
myself  in  the  subject.  I  wash  my  hands  of  the  whole 
matter." 

This,  however,  was  only  an  interjection  on  her  part, 
and  did  not  really  interrupt  the  conversation.  Hubert 
let  her  go  fully  into  the  question  of  his  household  ex- 
penditure; and,  afterwards,  as  they  became  more 
friendly,  he  related,  at  her  own  request,  the  history  of 
the  weeks  immediately  preceding,  in  greater  minuteness 
than  he  had  been  able  to  do  in  his  letter. 

Meanwhile  she  had  finished  her  lunch,  and  now  at  his 
suggestion  she  accompanied  him  into  the  garden.  She 
had  already  supposed  that  Gwenny  and  May  were  at 
play,  and  he  had  confirmed  the  supposition.  But  when 
they  came  to  the  field,  which  the  children,  for  the  time 
being,  had  annexed  as  their  favourite  place  of  recreation, 
they  did  not  at  first  catch  sight  of  the  pair.  It  was 
only  after  some  searching  that  the  little  ones  were  dis- 
covered hidden  amid  the  tall  wild  oats  and  grass,  and 
reading  a  fairy  story  out  of  the  same  book.  The  few 
days  of  country  air  had  done  wonders  for  them.  They 
were  beautiful  sylph-like  children,  and  their  fresh  little 
eager  faces  sparkled  with  life  under  their  nut-brown 
hair  that  showed  soft  and  fine-spun  in  the  full  afternoon 
sunlight.  So  engrossed  were  they  in  their  story  that 
they  did  not  stir  till  Mrs.  Ruthven  and  Hubert  had 
ploughed  their  way  quite  close  to  them.  They  both  rose 
to  their  feet  shamefacedly. 

"  Were  you  looking  for  us,  uncle,  please  ?  "  asked. 
Gwenny,  with  a  marked  politeness  that  was  quite  nice 
and  pretty,  though  she  was  blushing  timidly  in  the 
presence  of  the  strange,  stern  old  lady. 

"  Yes,  little  girl,"  said  Hubert.    "  Your " 


108  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

"  You  don't  know  me,  do  you  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Ruthven, 
interrupting  him. 

They  looked  at  her  hard,  but,  as  they  could  not 
remember  her,  they  kept  silent.  They  had  an  idea  it 
would  be  impolite  to  admit  they  didn't  know  her. 

"  Of  course  you  don't — you've  never  seen  me  before, 
little  geese !  And  yet  you've  heard  a  great  deal  about 
me,  I'll  be  bound." 

They  were  puzzled  and  vaguely  ashamed.  They  hung 
their  heads  guiltily. 

"  No,  we  haven't  seen  you  before,  if  you  please,"  said 
May,  plucking  up  courage. 

"  You  are  distant  relations  of  mine,"  explained  the 
old  woman,  chuckling. 

"  Oh,"  they  exclaimed,  looking  suddenly  interested. 

"  If  you  would  kindly  tell  us  your  name,  we  should, 
of  course,  remember,"  suggested  Gwenny. 

"  I  am  the  old  ogre,  the  cruel,  unforgiving,  hard- 
hearted mother-in-law,  the  black,  the  stuck-up,  the — the 
— everything  that's  bad.  Come,  come,  who  is  the  old 
woman  you  were  taught  to  hate?  " 

Gwenny  flushed  and  agitatedly  dropped  her  book 
which  she  had  been  holding  wide  open. 

"  Ah — you  are  poor  Edward's  mother,"  cried  May  in 
triumphant  identification. 

"  Oh,  May ! "  said  Gwenny  reproachfully,  colouring 
still  more  deeply. 

"  Poor  Edward's  mother,"  repeated  Mrs.  Ruthven. 
"  I  should  think  it  was  poor  Edward !  And  what  were 
you  told  about  me?  " 

They  were  silent,  looking  much  distressed  and  very 
self-conscious  indeed. 

"  Of  course  you  hate  me.  But  come  now,  do  I  look 
so  hateful?" 

"  Oh,  no,  indeed,"  said  poor  Gwenny,  with  the  in- 
stinct of  good-breeding.  "  You  look  very  nice." 

Mrs.   Ruthven  laughed  heartily,  though  there  were 


THE  GUARDIAN  109 

tears  beneath  the  laughter.  "  You  little  flatterer !  Come, 
tell  me  now,  what  did  your  mother  teach  you  to  believe 
about  me?  " 

At  this  May  began  suddenly  to  cry,  and  Gwenny's 
eyes,  too,  filled  with  tears. 

"  Dear  me !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Ruthven.  "  You  mustn't 
cry,  little  girl,  you  really  mustn't.  I  am  quite  as  nice 
as  I  look,  I  assure  you." 

She  was  quite  sorry  she  had  so  awkwardly  reminded 
them  of  their  loss.  She  drew  May  close  to  her  and  dried 
her  tears. 

"  No,  no,  my  dear,"  she  went  on,  fondling  the  child's 
hair  and  cheek.  "  You  must  forget  all  the  evil  things 
you've  heard  about  your  grandmother.  She  is  a  very, 
very  gentle  and  loving  grandmother,  and  she  will  love 
you  always  if  you  will  promise  to  love  her.  Now  prom- 
ise me." 

"  Yes,  I  will  love  yoa  always,"  sobbed  May. 

"  And  you,  Gwenny  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Ruthven,  drawing 
her  over  with  one  hand,  while  she  encircled  May's  neck 
with  the  other. 

"  Yes,  grandmother,  I  will  love  you,"  said  Gwenny. 

"Always?" 

"  Yes,  always,  grandmother." 

"  Then  kiss  me !  " 

One  after  the  other  she  lifted  them  up,  kissing  them 
again  and  again  hysterically. 

In  this  way  was  sealed  the  reconciliation  between 
Hubert  and  his  mother. 

When  the  next  day,  he  saw  her  to  the  station,  she 
broached  a  point  she  had  on  her  mind. 

"  There  is  just  one  question  I  should  like  to  ask 
you,  Hubert,  before  we  say  good-bye ;  and  that  is  what 
provision  is  it  your  intention  to  make  for  the  religious 
instruction  of  the  children?  I  suppose,  of  course,  that 
that  poor  creature  did  not  entirely  neglect  her  duties 


110  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

but  instilled  into  them  some  notion  at  least  of  religious 
principles.  You  have,  of  course,  considered  this  sub- 
ject." 

"  Yes,  I  have  considered  it,"  he  answered,  sorry  the 
question  should  have  been  raised  just  at  this  last  mo- 
ment— though  her  anxiety  in  this  respect  was  certainly 
a  token  of  the  absoluteness  with  which  she  now  regarded 
them  as  of  the  family.  "  I  am  afraid  you'll  not  think 
my  reply  very  satisfactory,  but  you  know  my  free  ideas. 
They  have  been  to  school,  where  they  have  received  the 
usual  religious  teaching.  But  so  far  as  it  is  possible 
to  do  so  now,  I  want  to  leave  their  minds  absolutely  free. 
They  shall  always  have  before  them  the  highest  ideals 
of  right,  justice,  and  good- will,  which  they  shall  learn 
to  love  from  the  purest  impulses.  And  when  they  grow 
up  they  shall  be  free  to  choose — if  they  wish  for  any 
formal  religion.  You  need  ^  >Tre  no  fear  that  they  will 
be  taught  irreverence.  On  th«.  ^  .ntrary,  they  shall  learn 
to  look  on  true  religion  with  the  greatest  respect.  When 
they  are  old  enough  to  judge  for  themselves,  and  they 
elect  for  the  formal  religion,  I  shall  respect  their  choice, 
which,  at  least,  is  bound  to  be  sincere." 

"  I  am  sorry,  Hubert :  I  am  much  concerned  indeed," 
said  Mrs.  Ruthven.  "  But  I  shall  pray  to  the  Almighty 
that  He  may  turn  their  hearts  to  Him  ...  I  should 
have  wished  that  you  yourself  might  have  grown  up 
otherwise.  Ah,  well,  I  must  bear  my  pain,  since  my 
hopes  were  not  to  be  realized.  Ah,  Hubert,  you  little 
know  how  you  have  hurt  me.  Good-bye,  dear." 

She  gave  him  the  warmest  kiss  he  had  had  from  her 
for  many  years;  and,  a  moment  later,  he  waved  his 
hand  to  her  as  the  train  moved  off. 


y^S  Hubert  had  foreseen,  Lady  Wycliffe  and  her 
ZJ  world  had  already  passed  far  away  from  him ; 
^  M  and  that  quite  irrespective  of  the  change  in 
his  own  life.  As  time  went  by  he  found  him- 
self approving  more  and  more  his  having  withheld  his 
confidence  from  her,  and  he  certainly  did  not  deem 
it  essential  now  voluntarily  to  inform  her  of  his  move 
to  the  country  and  what  had  led  up  to  it.  If  she  ever 
wished  to  communicate  with  him,  his  address  at  the 
Temple  was  as  heretofore;  certainly  she  had  yet  to  show 
that  her  interest  in  him  had  been  more  than  ephemeral, 
a  mere  caprice  of  her  sentimental  disposition — a  possi- 
bility he,  with  his  pride,  was  not  prepared  to  appreciate. 
And  so  he  preferred  to  remain  silent  until  she  should, 
of  herself  evince  her  desire  to  maintain  their  acquaint- 
anceship on  as  cordial  a  basis  as  at  the  beginning. 

In  other  ways,  too,  his  life  narrowed  perceptibly — 
though  only  for  a  surer  concentration  on  his  own  home. 
After  the  recess,  town  became  only  the  scene  of  his  daily 
work.  Each  afternoon  he  hurried  away  from  the  Temple 
at  the  earliest  moment,  so  that  clubs  and  political  circles 
knew  less  and  less  of  him,  and  many  acquaintanceships 
languished.  Preston  for  the  present  had  settled  down 
for  a  long  sojourn  in  Wales,  but  any  desire  on  even 
his  part  for  more  than  a  few  hurried  minutes  of  Hu- 
bert's society  could  only  be  gratified  by  his  coming  to 
Lynford  at  week-ends. 

Meanwhile,  Hubert  was  living  in  perfect  contentment. 
In  the  past  he  had,  at  the  best  of  times,  scarcely  ventured 
to  look  forward  to  as  much  as  this.  Despite  his 
mother's  disapproval  of  his  bachelorhood,  he  had  now 

111 


ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

once  more  relegated  the  idea  of  marrying  to  the  vague- 
nesses of  the  distant  future.  If  the  thought  of  Miss 
Hardynge  ever  crossed  his  mind,  it  was  only  to  raise 
a  smile.  Marriage  in  his  career  must  now  be  a  mere 
accident,  the  crowning  act  of  some  quick  drama  that 
should  take  him  by  surprise. 

The  little  family  soon  learnt  to  find  its  way  about  the 
countryside,  and  adjusted  itself  harmoniously  to  the 
conditions  of  life  in  that  particular  corner  of  civiliza- 
tion. An  accomplished  girl  of  about  sixteen  (the 
daughter  of  a  local  doctor  who  resided  in  the  town)  was 
engaged  to  continue  their  school  work  with  the  children, 
and  to  initiate  them  in  music  and  drawing.  When  the 
new  routine  came  into  force  the  children  accordingly 
studied  with  Miss  Williams  in  the  mornings,  and  were 
free  to  play  or  read  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  provided 
they  had  got  through  the  lessons  set  them.  On  Satur- 
day afternoons  Hubert  would  often  take  them  for  a 
long  drive,  with  a  halt  for  tea  at  some  picturesque 
farmhouse.  Moreover,  there  was  a  never-ending  story 
he  was  inventing  for  them,  of  which  he  was  always  ready 
with  an  instalment  on  demand;  and  in  more  serious 
moments  he  had  many  a  confidential  little  chat  with 
them.  For  their  own  recreation  they  had  a  swing  in  the 
garden,  and  quantities  of  ingenious  toys,  and  boxes  of 
water  colours,  and  endless  picture-books ;  each,  besides, 
having  her  corner  of  ground  to  cultivate  at  her  pleasure. 
But  in  addition  to  their  own  territory  there  was  another 
wonderful  place  they  loved  to  visit — a  large  market- 
garden  some  twenty  minutes'  walk  from  the  house.  It 
was  hidden  by  high  hedges,  and  stretched  from  the  road- 
way towards  the  hills.  The  children  were  allowed  to 
wander  among  the  gooseberry  bushes  and  pick  the  fruit 
at  will,  for  the  owner,  Mr.  Hutchings,  a  fascinating, 
gnarled,  sun-burnt  figure,  supplied  the  house  with  milk, 
butter,  honey,  fruit,  and  poultry.  Moreover,  the  further 
end  of  the  market-garden  was  bounded  by  a  shallow 


THE  GUARDIAN  113 

brook,  whose  knobby,  mossy  bottom  was  clearly  visible 
in  all  its  strange  details.  Willows  overhung  the  opposite 
bank,  and  weeds  grew  thick  at  the  sides.  Here  and 
there  water-lilies  gleamed  in  the  sun,  and  carp,  tench, 
and  dace  swarmed  in  astonishing  multitudes.  At  one 
point  was  a  little  rickety  landing-stage,  alongside  of 
which  an  old  leaky  punt,  fastened  to  an  iron  ring,  half 
floated  in  the  water,  half  lay  on  the  muddy  ground  with 
its  head  among  the  weeds.  The  children  would  follow 
the  thread-like  path  along  the  water's  edge  ever  so  far, 
till  at  last  it  turned  off  sharply  to  the  left  and  took 
them  to  all  sorts  of  mysterious  pits  and  greenhouses. 
Further  on  was  a  whole  city  of  bee-hives,  though  the 
terrific  swarms  with  their  formidable  humming  used  to 
frighten  them  back  at  first. 

Altogether  Gwenny  and  May  were  as  delighted  with 
this  country  life  as  children  could  be,  and,  as  Hubert's 
knowledge  of  his  little  charges  grew,  he  caught  more 
and  more  of  their  spirit  and  buoyancy.  The  world 
seemed  to  him  infinitely  fresher,  infinitely  more  vivid. 
He  was  conscious  of  emotional  changes  in  himself — of 
a  softening  and  a  deepening,  and  a  broadening — as  his 
nature  responded  to  the  perfect  surrender  of  these  tiny 
souls,  for  whom  the  world  rested  on  his  shoulders.  For 
he  was  the  repository  of  all  their  thoughts,  imaginings 
and  secrets;  his  brain,  they  conceived,  contained  all 
the  knowledge  and  wisdom  in  the  universe,  and  they 
loved  and  trusted  and  worshipped  him  with  all  the  rich- 
ness and  abandon  that  child-nature  is  capable  of. 

He  was  happy,  indeed,  that  the  world  should  rest  upon 
his  shoulders,  and  he  rejoiced  in  their  sense  of  security. 
And  they,  too,  were  so  happy  now,  that  it  seemed  im- 
possible to  make  them  more  so.  They  had  been  taken 
and  set  down  in  a  fairy-land,  of  an  extent  of  which 
they  had  never  dreamed.  Its  boundaries  on  all  sides 
seemed  to  them  an  infinite  distance  off  on  those  en- 
chanted afternoons  when  Hubert  drove  them  for  miles 


ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

through  the  surrounding  landscapes.  Though  they 
had  read  about  the  country  with  accompanying  vivid 
imaginings,  their  little  suburban  park  had  formed  the 
raw  material  for  embellishment,  and  they  had  never  pic- 
tured to  themselves  anything  so  beautiful  as  this  real 
country,  with  its  soft,  sweet,  undulating  expanses.  They 
were,  moreover,  even  on  ordinary  days,  quite  over- 
whelmed by  the  choice  of  delightful  occupations,  from 
feeding  the  horse  with  sugar  to  watching  Armstrong  at 
his  gardening,  or  even  emulating  his  highly-interesting 
labours.  Since  to  read  or  to  play,  to  be  here  or  there, 
were  all  equally  joys,  and  all  equally  claiming  them  at 
once,  they  enjoyed  life  as  with  great  gluttonous  gulps. 
But  when  Hubert  was  at  home  their  supreme  happiness 
was  to  be  near  him,  whether,  indoors,  they  handed  down 
or  handed  up  books  to  him,  or,  out  of  doors,  he  criticised 
their  gardening  or  joined  them  at  cricket  or  catch-ball. 

But  they  were  not  spoilt  children.  Hubert  had  told 
them  very  clearly  that  they  would  be  expected  to  work 
and  to  take  pains  in  the  hours  set  apart  for  that  pur- 
pose; so  that  they  took  their  lessons  with  an  immense 
solemnity,  and  were  conscientious  almost  to  a  fault.  Be- 
sides, they  were  pathetically  anxious  not  to  appear 
dunces  in  Hubert's  eyes  (than  which  they  could  have 
imagined  no  greater  degradation),  and  they  desired  to 
show  themselves  deserving  of  all  the  nice  things  that 
were  at  their  disposal. 

Though  they  were  necessarily  being  educated  together 
by  their  common  companionship  with  Hubert,  still,  in 
the  formal  work  done  with  Miss  Williams,  Gwenny's 
lessons  were  kept  separate  from  May's.  It  would  have 
been  humiliating  to  the  elder  sister  to  be  put  back  to 
the  lower  stage  of  May's  attainments,  for  though  the 
latter  considered  herself  fully  Gwenny's  equal  in  matters 
of  the  world — she  accepted  Gwenny's  supremacy  at  les- 
sons as  the  natural  order  of  things.  Soon  throwing 
aside  their  first  timidity,  both  became  fired  by  ambition 


THE  GUARDIAN  115 

to  stride  ahead  rapidly,  to  perform  prodigies  of  in- 
tellectuality. Yet  even  this  did  not  lead  to  anything  in 
the  nature  of  rivalry.  May's  ambition,  in  fact,  was  a 
perfectly  general  emotion,  and  that  she  might  eventually 
get  in  front  of  Gwenny  was  by  far  too  mature  an  idea 
to  occur  to  her.  Such  a  state  of  affairs  would,  in  fact, 
have  appeared  to  her  as  abnormal  as  trees  growing 
with  their  roots  in  the  air.  Yet  an  outsider  might  well 
have  supposed  that  May  would  soon  be  taking  the  lead. 
For  she  had  a  quick  eye  that  observed  everything — and 
could  not  help  observing  everything.  Achieving  results 
without  much  pondering,  she  had  the  appearance  of 
scarcely  thinking  at  all.  With  her  bright  way  of  dash- 
ing at  things,  she  was  able  to  get  through  every  task 
without  the  least  apparent  effort.  Gwenny  on  the  other 
hand  was  perceptibly  painstaking.  She  would  calmly 
and  carefully  consider  every  point  put  to  her,  and  never 
answer  hastily.  She  was  neater,  too,  than  her  sister, 
carefully  ruling  every  line ;  whereas  May  had  a 
tendency  only  to  rule  the  important  ones.  Then,  too, 
Gwenny  excelled  in  ornamental  capitals  and  head-lines, 
elaborately  engrossed  with  inks  of  all  colours.  The  out- 
sider, nevertheless,  would  have  proved  a  false  prophet. 
Gwenny  was  perfectly  able  to  maintain  her  lead.  There 
was  no  real  difference  in  solid  ability  between  the  two 
children,  but  only  a  rather  striking  one  of  temperament 
— and  of  method.  Hubert's  own  judgment  was  that 
Gwenny  was  fundamentally  the  more  serious  character 
of  the  two,  for  she  very  obviously  took  life  in  a  more 
staid  and  elderly  fashion,  and  was  far  slower  than 
her  sister  to  lose  herself  in  the  excitement  of  their  pas- 
times. 

After  they  had  gone  to  bed,  Hubert,  as  a  rule,  would 
apply  himself  with  zest  to  his  books — unless  he  had 
brought  business  papers  home  with  him.  Such  work, 
indeed,  encroached  frequently  on  his  evening  hours,  yet 
he  was  able  to  gratify  his  passion  for  study  and  read- 


116  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

ing,  always  one  of  the  intensest  pleasures  of  his  life.  In 
his  rummaging  at  his  favourite  book-shops,  he  was  con- 
stantly unearthing  mouldy  little  volumes  of  forgotten 
memoirs  in  worn  calf  bindings,  and  strange  medleys  of 
pseudophilosophy,  and  queer  old  treatises  on  religion, 
and  collections  of  mystic  meditations.  All  these  he 
would  race  through  with  feverish  eagerness,  placing, 
classifying,  reflecting,  and  getting  many  a  clear  ray 
cast  on  the  unending  grotesquerie  of  human  conviction 
and  action.  Despite  his  overflowing  library,  he  knew 
and  loved  every  individual  book  in  it.  Original  work 
he  did  not  attempt  now,  though  he  dreamingly  planned 
out  large  treatises,  and  jotted  down  the  fundamental 
thoughts  that  occurred  to  him. 

On  the  hot  summer  nights  he  would  read  with  the 
tall  French  windows  open,  and,  after  a  long  spell,  he 
would  put  down  his  book  and  stroll  out  into  the  garden. 
Those  were  sweet  moments  when  he  stood  in  the  wonder- 
ful silence,  broodingly  aware  of  the  vast  landscape  and 
the  soft-rolling  hills  that  lay  beneath  the  darkness,  of 
the  immense  life  of  past  generations  that  had  faded 
into  that  same  silence,  and  of  the  two  little  girls  slumber- 
ing deeply,  worn  out  by  their  happy  play  on  the  lawn 
in  the  lengthening  afternoon  shadows. 


VI 

/T  was  not  till  the  late  autumn  that  Hubert  heard 
again  from  Lady  Wycliffe.  He  found  a  letter 
from  her,  on  arriving  at  the  Temple  one  morn- 
ing, bulking  amazingly  among  his  other  corre- 
spondence. Not  that  the  letter  itself  was  very  enormous 
(though  it  covered  six  friendly  pages)  ;  but  the  en- 
velope was  stuffed  out  with  the  proof  sheets  of  a  new 
article  of  hers.  She  was  rather  shame-faced  about  hav- 
ing indulged  in  it,  half  apologetic  for  its  existence  and 
wholly  apologetic  for  troubling  him  with  it.  She  begged 
him  not  to  laugh  at  her  too  much  (he  was  unchivalrous 
enough  to  laugh  notwithstanding)  ;  it  was  not  like  dram- 
drinking,  she  assured  him,  and  the  sort  of  thing  was 
not  going  to  grow  on  her.  She  went  on  to  explain 
how  it  had  come  about — though  all  the  time  he  knew 
very  well  the  task  had  afforded  her  the  keenest  grati- 
fication, and  that  the  result  was  now  presented  to  him 
with  all  the  pride  with  which  a  cat  brings  its  mouse 
to  be  seen,  and  certainly  not  without  a  hope  of  sur- 
prising him  into  admiration  of  its  cleverness.  "  The 
editor,"  she  wrote,  "  seems  to  have  been  bent  for  some 
time  on  exploiting  the  talent  of  women  with  titles,  and 
many  have  already  yielded  to  his  flattering  solicitations 
— in  most  instances,  I  fear,  with  unfortunate  results. 
Evidently  the  pen  is  a  dangerous  weapon  for  those  un- 
accustomed to  handle  it.  Somebody  was  needed  to 
redeem  the  reputation  of  the  order  for  intelligence — for 
the  writers  are,  as  a  rule,  far  more  intelligent  than 
their  effusions  would  lead  one  to  suppose;  and  it  was 
in  the  hope  of  being  that  somebody  that  I  could  not 
resist  the  editor's  delightful  invitation.  This  is  the  way 

117 


118  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

he  wrote  to  me.  *  Of  course,'  he  said, '  I  could  not  suggest 
anything  in  the  way  of  money  return  that  would  in  any 
sense  represent  the  intrinsic  value  of  a  contribution  from 
your  ladyship's  pen,  or  indicate  our  appreciation  of  it, 
but  as  a  matter  of  routine  we  should  like  to  send  your 
ladyship  by  way  of  honorarium  a  cheque  for  twenty- 
five  guineas.' '  Lady  Wycliffe  was  childishly  delighted 
with  the  amount,  which  had  deeply  impressed  her  imag- 
ination. A  professional  writer,  she  remarked,  must  be 
able  to  earn  quite  a  huge  income,  and  she  really  had 
had  no  idea  of  it.  She  then  proceeded  to  devote  as 
much  space  again  to  a  gossipy  account  of  her  own 
doings,  and  concluded  with  a  sympathetic  inquiry  as 
to  his  own. 

The  article,  Hubert  was  glad  to  find,  was  gracefully 
written — though  not  free  from  prejudice.  He  was  thus 
able,  without  violence  to  his  own  conscience,  to  mete  out 
a  certain  amount  of  praise.  As  he  penned  his  reply  he 
felt  it  growing  under  his  hand.  Her  own  friendly  letter, 
following  the  long  silence,  had  somehow  done  more  to 
draw  him  to  her  than,  perhaps,  would  have  many  letters 
in  the  interim.  Her  gentle  nature,  her  beautiful  sym- 
pathy seemed  once  more  to  cast  a  spell  over  him,  and 
he  even  blamed  himself  for  his  previous  doubts  of  her. 
And  so  he  wrote  as  if  to  a  friend  of  long  standing, 
impelled  by  way  of  atonement  to  tell  her  briefly  of  his 
adoption  of  his  orphaned  nieces  and  of  the  present 
ordering  of  his  life.  He  wound  up  by  some  reference 
to  his  reading  of  late,  touching  on  the  old  memoirs 
which  so  delighted  him  because  they  always  told  so 
much  more  than  their  writers,  embedded  in  the  atmo- 
sphere of  their  own  times,  dreamed  they  were  telling. 

His  letter  was  perfectly  spontaneous  throughout,  and 
as  he  sealed  it  he  recalled  how  she  had  said  to  him,  "  I 
should  love  your  children."  He  could  hear  her  softened 
voice,  and  the  words  touched  him  now  even  more  than 
then.  Perhaps,  he  thought  wistfully,  she  might  come 


THE  GUARDIAN  119 

to  love  even  Gwenny  and  May;  for  were  they  not  his 
children  now? 

Following  close  on  Lady  Wycliffe's  letter  came  a  mes- 
sage from  Constance  Powers.  Since  their  last  "  annual 
tea  "  she  had  passed  out  of  his  mind  even  more  than 
usual,  what  with  all  the  additional  demands  on  his  at- 
tention ;  but  he  had  occasionally  wondered  how  her 
affairs  were  progressing.  The  recognition  of  her  writing 
brought  her  back  to  him  vividly,  with  her  fair  hair,  her 
large,  wistful  eyes,  and  her  intelligent  face.  He  re- 
membered now  all  she  had  told  him  of  her  love  affair, 
and  of  her  "  speculation  in  lodgings."  As  he  broke 
open  the  envelope,  he  had  the  odd  thought  that  she  had 
never  mentioned  to  him  her  sweetheart's  surname,  while 
he  had  never  thought  of  asking  for  it;  Willie  had 
seemed  so  natural  and  all-sufficing  an  appellation  for  a 
sweetheart.  This  time,  she  explained,  she  was  not  ask- 
ing him  to  an  annual  tea,  but  to  something  slightly 
more  substantial.  She  purposed,  in  fact,  going  to  four 
distinct  kinds  of  sandwiches,  to  say  nothing  of  fruit 
and  wine  and  cakes.  If  he  thought  it  extravagant  of 
her,  she  could  only  plead  that  one  didn't  get  married 
every  day;  and  her  wedding  was  to  take  place  sooner 
than  she  had  ever  dreamed.  The  date  had  now  been 
fixed  for  a  fortnight  ahead.  She  had,  as  she  had  told 
him,  at  first  determined  to  keep  the  tale  of  her  muddled 
affairs  from  Willie,  but  she  had  found  it  quite  impossible 
to  do  so.  At  a  certain  intense  and  sympathetic  moment 
all  had  slipped  out,  and  he  had  chided  her  for  keeping 
so  great  a  burden  for  her  own  shoulders.  He  had 
claimed  the  right  of  at  least  sharing  equally — since  she 
would  not  consent  to  let  him  take  all.  And  in  order 
to  seal  the  compact  he  had  insisted  on  their  marrying 
almost  immediately.  She  feared,  however,  their  respec- 
tive families  were  irreconcilable.  South  Kensington  and 
North  Kensington  each  approved  of  the  other's  attitude, 
each  secretly  pitying  the  other  in  that  such  a  respectable 


120  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

family  should  be  afflicted  with  such  a  scapegrace ;  though, 
as  neither  avowed  to  a  scapegrace,  they  were  at  daggers 
drawn  when  either's  scapegrace  was  referred  to  as  such. 

And  so  now  the  scapegraces  were  taking  matters  into 
their  own  hands.  On  the  marriage-day  they  would  be 
receiving  their  few  chosen  friends  at  her  old  rooms  in 
Pimlico  (by  kind  permission  of  her  tenant-successor), 
and  she  looked  forward  to  Hubert's  assisting  at  their 
little  Bohemian  party. 

Hubert  was  more  than  willing,  for  he  found  this  little 
social  comedy  highly  diverting;  though  he  was  sorry  to 
feel  that  Constance  would  still  be  obliged  to  live  a  life 
of  vicissitudes  and  sordid  cares.  He  certainly  liked 
and  respected  her,  and  he  trusted  that  her  new  fund  of 
faith  and  hope  would  take  her  on  to  more  auspicious 
paths.  She  was  really  a  clever  girl,  he  believed,  and 
if  she  only  got  her  chance  she  ought  to  do  something. 

On  the  wedding  afternoon  Hubert  arrived  at  the 
Pimlico  address  about  five  o'clock,  which  was  as  early 
as  he  could  get  away.  The  party,  however,  was  then 
at  its  height,  and  he  stepped  into  a  packed  room  and 
a  deafening  hubbub  of  conversation.  Immediately 
Constance  came  flitting  across  to  him — she  managed  to 
"  flit "  in  spite  of  the  density — with  large  manifesta- 
tions of  joy  at  his  coming.  She  wore  a  gown  of  white 
satin,  with  lilies  in  her  hair  and  bosom. 

"  You  may  imagine  how  delighted  I  am,"  she  ex- 
claimed, shaking  his  hand  with  the  nervous  exuberance 
of  a  wife  of  three  hours'  standing.  Then  her  cheeks 
suddenly  flushed  deeper.  "  Without  your  presence,  I 
should  have  been  somewhat  of  my  mother's  opinion 
about  my  marriage,"  she  added  in  a  lower  tone. 

"  She  looks  on  it  as  incomplete?  "  he  hazarded,  inter- 
preting the  compliment  correctly,  though  passing  away 
from  it  immediately. 

"  She  looks  on  it  as  no  real  wedding  at  all.  No 
bridesmaids,  no  crowds  or  pomp,  no  picturesque  pro- 


THE  GUARDIAN  121 

cession  down  the  aisle,  and  no  joyous  organ-roll !  With- 
out such  essential  details  a  wedding  must  seem  to  her 
of  doubtful  legality." 

Her  face  was  suddenly  overcast.  He  could  see  that 
there  was  bitterness  in  her  words,  and  that  she  was 
suffering.  He  inquired  whether  all  her  family  had  kept 
away. 

"  They  were  strictly  forbidden  to  come  near  me.  My 
father's  mind  works  in  a  strange  way.  I  had  begged 
that  my  sisters,  at  least,  might  be  allowed  to  come,  and 
he  wrote  to  say  he  could  not  possibly  permit  it,  as  that 
would  make  it  appear  that  this  marriage  had  his  sanc- 
tion, whereas  it  was  his  desire  to  emphasize  his  dis- 
approval. On  this  one  day,  therefore,  not  one  member 
of  the  family  must  come  near  me,  though  afterwards 
we  might  be  as  friendly  as  before,  provided  he  saw 
nothing  of  my  husband.  He  does  not  disown  me,  you 
see;  he  simply  wishes  to  stand  aloof  absolutely  from  my 
marriage.  Curious  attitude,  is  it  not?  My  sisters 
have  no  spirit,  and  father  is  an  autocrat.  But  I  must 
introduce  you  to  my  husband.  That  is  he  in  the  other 
room  talking  to  the  girl  in  mauve." 

The  crowd  divided  before  her,  and  she  led  the  way 
through  the  open  folding-door,  beyond  which  people 
were  standing  in  groups  round  a  large  table  thickly 
set  out  with  good  things — to  the  full  tune  of  extrava- 
gance which  she  had  pre-announced  to  him.  Willie 
proved  to  be  a  big  fellow,  massively  built,  with  red  hair 
and  heavily-freckled  skin.  His  forehead  was  high  and 
knobby,  the  hazey  eyes  almost  level  with  his  face,  the 
nose  well  chiselled,  the  mouth  large  with  thick  lips,  and 
the  chin  unexpectedly  weak.  Altogether  Hubert  did  not 
like  his  expression,  which  struck  him  as  that  of  a  man 
always  on  his  guard.  But  he  did  not  attach  much 
importance  to  this  first  feeling,  especially  as  the  man's 
face  presently  lit  up  with  a  pleasant  smile  that  had  a 
certain  fascination  about  it. 


ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

"  Mr.  Barton— Mr.  Ruthven !  " 

The  two  shook  hands,  exchanging  a  few  banal  re- 
marks, while  Constance  smilingly  put  in  a  word  or  two 
in  the  anxious  endeavour  to  promote  their  conversation. 
But  somehow  the  two  men  seemed  curiously  out  of  sym- 
pathy, and  Hubert,  instead,  found  himself,  after  a  mo- 
ment or  two,  sipping  coffee  and  talking  to  the  girl  in 
mauve.  She  was  a  Mrs.  Rowland  Grainger,  the  wife  of 
a  comedian,  a  little  man  with  a  monocle  and  an  ex- 
cruciated expression,  who  was  talking  vigorously  a  few 
feet  away.  Mrs.  Grainger,  plump  and  fair  in  her  mauve 
costume,  had  smiled  graciously  on  Hubert,  and  had  im- 
mediately launched  out  into  a  philosophic  disquisition 
on  marriage  and  happiness.  She  talked  and  talked 
and  talked,  yet  maintained  her  smile  throughout.  All 
Constance's  friends,  she  said,  were  immensely  pleased 
that  she  was  now  going  to  be  so  much  happier  than 
before.  If  married  people  weren't  happy,  she  rattled 
on,  it  was  their  own  fault.  She  herself  had  now  been 
married  nine  years,  and  although  she  and  her  husband 
had  begun  without  money,  and  had  never  had  a  pound 
to  spare  since,  still  they  had  had  a  very  good  time 
together.  Her  husband  was  really  such  a  nice  little 
man.  True,  he  always  said  that  if  he  hadn't  fallen  in 
love  at  twenty-one,  he  would  never  have  been  able  to 
make  up  his  mind  at  thirty.  It  was  only  now  that  he 
realized  how  great  a  piece  of  rashness  their  marriage 
had  then  been.  But  they  took  life  as  it  came,  and 
didn't  allow  themselves  to  be  worried  by  things.  They 
had  been  practically  all  over  the  world  and  had  enjoyed 
themselves  immensely;  and  everywhere  they  had  met 
people  as  happy  as  themselves.  She  was  always  lectur- 
ing Constance  about  taking  things  too  seriously — she 
had  had  the  opportunity,  for  she  and  her  husband  were 
Constance's  tenants. 

All  this  time  Hubert's  eye  was  wandering  round  sur- 
veying the  throng — the  clean-shaven  oldish-youngish 


THE  GUARDIAN  123 

men  with  their  facial  muscles  all  in  tension,  the  women 
with  the  theatre  unmistakably  in  their  bones  and  atti- 
tudes. There  was  an  air  about  the  assembly  that  told 
of  uncertain  work  and  uncertain  earnings,  yet  likewise 
of  an  unfathomable  affection  for  the  Bohemian  at- 
mosphere and  the  professional  life  that  weighed  well 
against  all  the  chances  and  mischances. 

At  length  Barton,  observing  that  Hubert  was  restless, 
sought  again  to  come  into  the  conversation,  and  as,  a 
moment  later,  some  other  man  strolled  over  and  ended 
by  monopolizing  Mrs.  Grainger's  garrulous  attention, 
Hubert  and  Barton  were  again  left  to  talk  to  each  other. 
But,  as  before,  the  attempt  was  a  dismal  failure. 

"  It's  awfully  good  of  you  to  have  come,  you  know," 
said  Barton,  who  had  a  strangely  soft  voice  and  a  some- 
what mannered  enunciation — almost  that  of  a  foreigner. 
It  was  the  third  repetition  of  the  same  sentiment,  for 
the  third  time  evoked  to  fill  an  awkward  pause.  "  Won't 
you  have  something  to  drink?  "  he  went  on  desperately. 

"  Thanks,"  said  Hubert,  but  he  was  grateful  when 
Constance  ultimately  came  to  his  rescue  with  the  desire 
to  introduce  him  to  "  a  very  pretty  girl,"  by  name  Miss 
Queenie  Wilson,  who,  however,  proved  to  be  more  pic- 
turesque than  pretty.  She  had  large  eyes,  preter- 
naturally  bright  and  piercing,  dark,  visibly-powdered 
checks,  a  slim  figure  in  a  tight-fitting  green  dress,  and 
billowy  hair  under  a  big  Gainsborough  hat.  She  was 
friendly  and  entertaining,  and  in  turn  introduced  him 
to  other  picturesque  friends  of  hers — Barbara  Miles  and 
Gertrude  Wyoming,  both  as  fair  and  pink  and  fluffy 
as  she  was  dark  and  wavy.  So  that  soon  Hubert  was 
feeling  more  in  touch  with  all  these  friends  of  Con- 
stance, and  an  hour  or  so  passed  agreeably. 

When  the  time  came  for  him  to  depart,  Barton  wrung 
his  hand  with  exuberant  warmth,  and  Constance's  eyes 
glistened  at  his  farewell  good  wishes. 


rHAT  first  doubtful  impression  of  Constance's 
husband  remained  with  Hubert.      "  Willie  " 
was  frankly  a  disappointment — his  fascinat- 
ing smile,  beautiful  teeth,  and  melodious  voice 
notwithstanding.   The  same  marked  expression  about  the 
young  man's  eyes  had  struck  Hubert  disagreeably  when- 
ever he  had  been  able  to  catch  the  face  in  repose,  and 
there  was  left  in  his  mind  a  grave  suspicion  that  Con- 
stance had  all  along  been  idealizing  an  utterly  unworthy 
person.     His  misgivings,  of  course,  might  be  irrational. 
Indeed,  it  was  a  relief  to  think  they  were,  and  he  hoped 
devoutly  that  the  marriage  was  destined  to  be  a  happy 
one. 

As  the  weeks  went  past  he  found  that  Constance  did 
not  fade  from  his  consciousness  in  the  same  way  as 
previously.  Her  figure  literally  haunted  him,  and  he 
was  always  wondering  what  she  was  doing  and  how  she 
was  faring.  At  the  same  time  she  seemed  to  have  re- 
ceded further  from  him  than  ever  before.  He  felt  as 
if  he  had  sustained  some  personal  loss.  And  yet  he 
retained  his  habitual  conviction  that  she  would  turn  up 
again  with  her  usual  unexpectedness.  Perhaps,  too,  she 
would  need  his  help  some  day. 

Another  marriage  to  which  Hubert  was  shortly  after 
invited  (and  one  in  connection  with  which  his  emotions 
were  unreservedly  enthusiastic)  was  that  of  Marvin  the 
artist,  who  had  been  so  kind  to  the  children.  The 
widower  was  about  to  lead  to  the  altar  an  estimable 
lady  who  had  sat  to  him  once  or  twice,  and  who  was  as 
wealthy  as  she  was  amiable.  Indeed,  every  feature  of 
the  affair  radiated  with  such  satis  factoriness  that  it  really 

124 


THE  GUARDIAN  125 

came  perilously  near  to  affording  no  points  of  interest, 
but  merely  presenting  an  occasion  for  eliciting  one's 
hearty  good-will.  Yet  the  wedding-day  was  destined 
to  be  one  of  the  most  memorable  for  Hubert ;  for  Pres- 
ton, who  had  only  just  returned  from  Wales,  chose  it 
as  the  occasion  for  conveying  to  him  a  most  momentous 
announcement. 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  Preston,  after  drawing  Hubert 
into  a  quiet  corner  (the  reception  was  being  held  at  the 
bride's  own  house  in  Hans  Place)  ;  "  I've  been  thinking 
over  things  seriously,  and  I've  had  a  sort  of  big  in- 
spiration. These  revolutions  in  the  lives  of  our  friends 
are  very  disturbing.  As  long  as  they  jog  along  in  the 
same  old  grooves,  we  are  hypnotized  into  being  content 
to  follow  their  example.  Now  Marvin's  marriage  is  a 
big  moment  in  his  life,  and  my  soul  has  been  stirred  into 
envy — not  of  the  marriage,  please  understand,  but  of 
the  big  moment.  My  own  life  has  been  singularly 
barren  of  big  moments  and  so  I  am  introducing  one  by 
acting  on  the  big  inspiration  I  just  mentioned.  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  at  last  to  alter  my  mode  of  taking 
the  noxious  mixture  of  life.  London  is,  in  fact,  in- 
tolerable now  that  the  one  righteous  man  has  fled  from 
it.  I'm  going  to  leave  England,  my  dear  fellow,  and  I 
wish  I  could  take  you  with  me." 

"  Far?  "  asked  Hubert.  The  question  implied  at  least 
ten  others. 

"  For  five  years  I  think,"  said  Preston,  singling  out 
for  reply  another  one  of  the  ten.  "  That  gives  me  one 
year  per  continent.  I  shall  begin  with  the  Far  East, 
and  follow  my  caprice.  The  Pacific  archipelagoes,  the 
Antarctic  seas,  the  Rocky  Mountains,  Brazil,  the  heart 
of  Africa,  all  entice  me — you  see  my  imagination  has 
taken  an  immense  flight.  Of  course  I  mean  to  be  fairly 
happy  the  whole  time,  but  the  principal  thing  is — the 
big  moment.  I'm  in  the  thick  of  it  now  (it  extends  up 
to  my  sailing)  and  I  can't  tell  you  how  I'm  enjoying  it." 


126  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

"  I  approve  of  your  whim,  but  I  shall  miss  you." 
Hubert's  mode  of  expressing  himself,  was,  as  usual, 
strictly  moderate,  but  he  looked  very,  very  solemn  all 
the  same. 

"  Don't  call  it  a  whim,  Hubert.  *  Inspiration '  was 
my  word.  The  odd  bits  of  travelling  I've  indulged  in  at 
times  have  not  been  enough  to  fill  in  and  colour  life 
for  me.  But  I  ought  not  to  talk  of  filling-in  and 
colouring  when  I've  never  had  even  the  faintest  of  out- 
lines. What  a  splendid  outline  you  have  now!  Plenty 
of  work,  beautiful  kids,  and  beautiful  ideals.  I  have 
only  had  my  belief  that  this  planet  is  the  idiot  asylum 
of  the  stellar  system,  and  that  a  few  sane  people,  un- 
happily for  them,  find  themselves  in  it  by  accident.  I've 
studied  the  lunatics  within  a  certain  radius  of  Charing 
Cross — now  I  want  to  get  into  touch  with  the  others  at 
first  hand." 

"  I  see !  The  rich  variation  of  the  lunacy  tempts  you." 

"  Exactly.  You  may,  in  fact,  regard  the  world  as  a 
vast  home  for  incurables,  beautifully  divided  into  wards 
in  each  of  which  the  inmates  are  victims  to  the  same  set 
of  delusions.  After  all  there  is  some  evidence  of  design 
in  the  world.  But  there  is  one  symptom  common  to  all 
the  wards — a  monstrous  vanity !  For  each  flaunts  itself 
as  immeasurably  superior  to  all  the  others,  and  shows  all 
the  idiot's  cunning  in  covering  its  idiocy  up  with  beauti- 
ful phrases  and  gaudy  flags.  And  how  each  pack 
keeps  on  snarling  at  every  other  pack!  But  the  wards 
have  really  been  fitted  up  with  a  humourous  appropri- 
ateness, each  having  been  decorated  just  to  suit  its  own 
particular  quarrelsome  lot.  Imagine,  for  instance,  the 
worshippers  of  Buddha  without  swamps,  jungles,  and 
elephants.  But  really,  you're  looking  white  as  a  ghost 
over  my  projected  little  study  of  humanity — or  insanity. 
Let's  come  and  get  an  ice." 

"  As  you  see  I  cannot  dissimulate  my  grief,  but  an 
ice  by  all  means." 


THE  GUARDIAN 

They  went  down-stairs  and  stood  amid  a  gaily  chatter- 
ing crowd,  but,  though  bowing  and  smiling  occasionally 
as  various  faces  smiled  at  them,  they  did  not  interrupt 
their  own  conversation. 

"  There  are,  perhaps,  some  half-a-dozen  people  I  shall 
shake  hands  with.  For  everybody  else  *  P.P.C.'  cards 
must  serve.  No  one  is  to  see  me  off  at  the  last  moment 
— I  mean  on  board — not  even  you !  But  I  want  you  to 
put  me  up  for  a  couple  of  days,  if  I  may  come  home 
with  you  at  the  week's  end." 

"  How  good  of  you !  " 

"  Thanks.  I  shall  complete  all  arrangements  in  the 
next  few  days.  Can't  bother  to  clear  out  my  rooms,  of 
course,  but  the  agents  will  keep  on  letting  them  fur- 
nished, and  I  dare  say  I  shall  want  to  pop  back  into 
them  some  day.  Everything  else  is  astonishingly  easy. 
I  just  give  my  sister  Marian  a  Power  of  Attorney,  you 
see,  and  I've  only  to  get  enough  outfit  to  start  with." 

When  Hubert  gave  himself  up  to  his  thoughts  that 
same  night  he  realized  how  deeply  he  had  been  shaken 
by  his  friend's  announcement.  Yet,  to  tell  the  truth,  he 
had  for  a  long  time  been  expecting  that  Preston  would, 
sooner  or  later,  launch  something  sensational  on  him, 
and  he  recognized  that  altogether  the  present  scheme 
was  as  good  as  anything  his  friend  could  have  devised. 
Nay,  on  further  reflection,  he  saw  it  was  the  only  thing 
in  life  that  could  yield  Preston  any  real  satisfaction.  He 
appreciated  the  idea  with  perfect  sympathy.  It  was 
not  an  amateur  pleasure  tour  his  friend  contemplated. 
Preston  wished  absolutely  to  lose  himself  in  the  various 
non-civilizations,  to  disappear  for  the  whole  five  years, 
holding  only  the  rarest  communication  with  England. 

Hubert  now  seemed  to  feel  more  clearly  the  nature 
of  the  contrast  between  himself  and  Preston.  He  be- 
lieved in  good  works  and  in  progress,  whereas  Preston 
loftily  refused  to  identify  himself  with  the  world  in 


128  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

any  way.  He  understood  his  friend  had  turned  away, 
sickened,  for  the  spectacle,  and  had  absolutely  refused 
to  be  concerned  in  it.  Men  of  his  type  were  always 
labelled  heartless  cynics,  whereas  their  very  dissatisfac- 
tion with  the  world  proved  they  were  in  reality  idealists. 
It  needed  a  kind  heart  to  be  distressed  by  brutal  sights, 
and  misanthropy  had  often  its  roots  in  love  of  man- 
kind. Some  such  sentiment  he  had  once,  indeed,  already 
expressed  to  Preston,  but  the  latter  had  characteristic- 
ally protested  against  being  dragged  up  to  Hubert's 
saintly  level.  "  No,  no,"  he  had  exclaimed  laughingly. 
"  Let  a  man  hug  in  peace  the  delusion  that  he's  a 
villain!" 

At  the  end  of  the  week  Preston  joined  Hubert  at 
Pump  Court  and  accompanied  him  down  to  Lynford. 


VIII 

PRESTON   rose   at   six,   and   went    for   a   long 
ramble  through  the  fresh  country. 
"  It's  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  get 
up  early,"  he  declared  at  breakfast ;  "  every- 
where, in  fact,  save  at  Jermyn-street.     My  rooms  must 
be  bewitched." 

May  and  Gwenny,  who  had  their  places  at  table  even 
when  there  were  visitors,  pricked  up  their  ears  at  this 
surmise  of  Preston's.  But  he  met  their  astonished  stare 
with  the  gravest  of  countenances. 

"  Yes,  I'm  quite  sure  they're  bewitched,"  he  resumed, 
as  if  the  slightest  further  reflection  had  brought  con- 
viction. "  Why,  now  I  come  to  remember,  only  the 
other  day  I  woke  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night  and 
caught  them  at  it." 

"  Were  there  any  fairies,  please  ?  "  asked  Gwenny. 

"  Not  exactly,"  answered  Preston.  "  Only  the  room 
seemed  enormous,  and  the  window  looked  like  a  shining 
patch  a  mile  off,  and  everything  was  so  still — I  could 
hear  my  own  heart  beat.  Then  a  voice  seemed  to  ring 
in  my  ears :  '  You  think  you're  going  to  get  up  at  six 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  at  least,  so  you  made  up  your 
mind  when  you  undressed.  But  not  until  the  bells  toll 
their  eleven  strokes  shall  you  be  released — ha,  ha,  ha ! ' 
And  when  the  morning  came,  I  had  to  lie  there  spell- 
bound, unable  to  move  hand  or  foot  despite  tremendous 
efforts.  The  feeling  was  simply  terrible.  At  last  eleven 
o'clock  began  to  strike,  and  in  a  moment  I  recovered  the 
use  of  my  muscles  and  jumped  out  of  bed.  This  sort  of 
thing  only  happens  at  Jermyn  street.  The  demon  with 
his  mysterious  voice  has  no  power  over  me  anywhere 

129 


130  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

else.  And  for  years  now  he  has  had  me  in  his 
grip." 

They  shuddered. 

"  There's  nothing  to  get  alarmed  about,  little  girls. 
The  nasty  fellow's  much  too  fond  of  Jermyn-street  to 
leave  it,  so  there's  scarcely  any  fear  of  his  following 
me  here.  Besides,  he  hates  the  country." 

"  If  I  were  you,"  said  Gwenny,  "  I  should  never  live 
there  again." 

"  That's  a  good  idea,"  said  Preston. 

"  I'm  sorry  he  hates  the  country,"  said  May,  with  a 
distinct  tinge  of  scepticism,  though  pale,  in  spite  of 
herself,  at  her  own  daring ;  "  because  I  should  like  to  see 
him." 

"  I  don't  think  you  would,"  chimed  in  Hubert  grimly. 

"  Really,  I  should,"  said  May,  put  upon  her  mettle, 
and  far  too  proud  to  give  way. 

"  He  has  never  actually  showed  himself  to  me,  but 
he  has  branching  horns  and  a  hundred  hideous  clutch- 
ing arms  like  a  devil-fish,  and  he  is  covered  all  over 
with  eyes,  at  least,  so  I've  read  on  the  best  authority," 
said  Preston. 

May  laughed  incredulously,  but  she  turned  still  paler. 

"  Very  well  then,"  said  Preston.  "  When  I  get  back 
to  Jermyn-street,  and  wake  up  next  Monday  in  the 
middle  of  the  night,  I  shall  make  it  a  point  to  ask  him 
to  pay  a  visit  down  here  just  to  oblige  you." 

She  laughed  with  forced  boisterousness,  but  was  now 
as  white  as  death. 

All  four  spent  a  happy  day  together,  driving  in  the 
morning,  and  lounging  in  the  garden  the  whole  long 
afternoon.  Any  very  serious  conversation  between  the 
two  men  seemed  to  be  postponed  in  favour  of  interests 
all  could  share  with  equal  pleasure.  The  children  with 
great  pride  showed  Preston  their  private  garden-plots, 
relating  the  history  of  their  favourite  plants,  and  ex- 
plaining their  hopes  as  to  the  future  career  of  some  of 


THE  GUARDIAN  131 

the  more  promising  ones.  Becoming  more  and  more 
the  big  playmate,  Preston  learnt  all  the  mysteries  and 
secrets  of  the  various  fairy  territories  into  which  they 
had  already  parcelled  out  the  Ruthven  dominions.  In 
this  part  of  the  wood  dwelt  a  good  fairy,  who  was  al- 
ways kind  to  children  and  helped  them  to  remember 
their  lessons;  in  that  thicket  lived  an  ogre,  and  for  the 
life  of  them  they  never  dared  penetrate  it.  Here  danced 
merry  elves  in  the  moonlight,  and  there  lurked  a  witch 
who  waited  till  everybody  was  asleep  to  go  a-riding  on 
her  broom  above  the  clouds.  Beyond  the  high  hedge 
that  confined  their  garden  on  the  left  stretched  poisonous 
marshes,  in  the  midst  of  which  an  imprisoned  king 
passed  his  years  in  a  marble,  though  invisible,  palace. 
The  lawn  in  front  of  the  house,  with  its  central  clump 
of  bushes,  was  rather  shunned  by  them,  especially  its 
further  end.  It  was  a  sad  region,  haunted  by  invisible 
spirits,  and  it  gave  you  an  eerie  feeling,  sometimes  an 
icy  one.  Whenever  they  had  ventured  to  set  foot  on 
it  they  had  retired  almost  immediately,  trembling  and 
with  beating  hearts.  Then  there  were  the  hidden  paths 
that  led  out  in  all  sorts  of  unexpected  ways,  and  wound 
about  so  delightfully  amid  the  shrubbery  and  thickets. 
And  all  these  regions,  connections,  and  dependencies 
had  formed  the  background  for  endless  mystic  and  ex- 
citing dramas — sometimes  with  a  dash  of  the  grotesque 
and  humourous  thrown  in — wherein  figured  knights, 
maidens,  children,  kings  and  queens,  swans,  and  wizards. 

Which  was  all  very  delightful  and  refreshing  for 
friend  Preston,  who  "  got  lost "  after  tea  with  his  little 
chums  for  over  two  hours,  even  submitting  to  being 
blindfolded  and  floundering  about  helplessly,  and  search- 
ing for  hidden  objects  guided  by  "  hot,"  "  cold," 
"  freezing,"  "  burning,"  and  various  other  degrees  of 
temperature. 

May  had  been  almost  madly  gay  all  day,  but  towards 
bed-time  her  animation  was  observed  to  dwindle,  till  at 


132  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

last  she  grew  strangely  silent.  As  this  was  so  unusual 
for  her  (she,  as  a  rule,  growing  more  and  more  frolic- 
some as  bed-time  drew  near,  and  savouring  the  last 
moments  of  "staying  up"  with  poignant  intensity), 
Hubert's  attention  was  at  once  attracted.  However,  he 
said  nothing  just  yet,  being  content  to  watch  her.  He 
fancied,  too,  she  was  pale,  whereas  after  a  long  after- 
noon's play  her  face  was  usually  one  bright  glow,  and, 
as  he  quietly  kept  observing  her,  he  saw  her  face  take 
on  more  and  more  a  strange,  uneasy  expression.  At 
length  Martha  Chapman  appeared,  inexorably  bent  on 
carrying  off  the  children,  but  May  seemed  to  linger 
reluctantly  even  after  kissing  the  elders  "  good-night." 
Ultimately,  with  an  effort,  she  managed  to  overcome  this 
hesitation,  and  got  as  far  as  the  door.  But  by  now 
every  drop  of  blood  seemed  to  have  left  her  face,  and 
as  Martha  tried  to  take  her  hand  she  shrank  back  into 
the  room  and  burst  into  tears. 

Hubert  and  Preston  stared  wonderingly,  whilst  the 
housekeeper,  misunderstanding  the  cause  of  all  this 
emotion,  stepped  after  her  protestingly. 

"  But  it's  really  past  your  time  already,  Miss  May." 

Again  she  attempted  to  take  the  child's  hands,  but 
now  May  uttered  a  piercing  cry  and  huddled  against 
the  wall  in  terror. 

Light  broke  on  Preston  just  then.  "Ah!"  he  ex- 
claimed, considerately  suppressing  his  desire  to  laugh. 
"  It's  my  Jermyn-street  demon  she's  thinking  of." 

"  Jermyn-street  is  a  long  way  off,"  said  Hubert ; 
"  and  the  scoundrel  is  too  comfortable  there  to  think 
of  leaving  it." 

"  And,  besides,"  added  Preston,  "  it's  possible  I  may 
have  exaggerated  the  number  of  his  eyes  and  arms." 

May  had  already  calmed  down  a  little,  and  Martha 
began  to  dry  the  little  face  soothingly. 

"  But  we  can  easily  make  sure  about  it,"  said  Pres- 
ton. "  Any  person  who  has  expressed  a  wish  for  the 


THE  GUARDIAN  133 

demon  to  appear  has  only  to  retract  it  and  to  apologize 
for  having  called  on  him  in  vain  to  be  for  ever  safe 
against  his  visits.  Repeat  these  words  after  me,  my 
dear,  and  then  you  need  have  no  further  fear." 

"  Yes,"  chimed  in  Hubert,  "  and  you'll  be  able  to 
sleep  perfectly  sound." 

"  I,  May  Winifred  Ruthven,"  began  Preston  in  a 
slow,  solemn  voice. 

"  I,  May  Winifred  Ruthven,"  repeated  May  tear- 
fully. 

"  Do  hereby  confess " 

"  Do  hereby  confess " 

"  That  I   have  not  the  slightest   desire " 

"  That  I  have  not  the  slightest  desire " 

"  To  make  the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Preston's  Jermyn- 
street  demon." 

But  the  humiliating  part  was  to  come,  namely — 

"  That  I  never  meant  what  I  said  this  morning,  and 
that  I  only  said  it  out  of  brag  and  boast.  I  beg  your 
pardon,  Mr.  Demon,  and  I  promise  not  to  brag  and 
boast  any  more  that  I'm  not  afraid  of  you,  because  I'm 
really  very  much  afraid  of  you.  So  please  forgive  me, 
and  don't  appear  to  me." 

After  which,  tear-stained  and  shame-faced,  she  humbly 
went  off  to  bed. 


IX 

the  Monday  morning,  Preston,  who  was  to 
travel  back  to  town  with  Hubert,  was  down- 
stairs  by  eight  o'clock.  He  found  May  already 
at  work  at  her  garden-plot,  and,  after  a  min- 
ute or  two,  she  consented  to  stroll  about  with  him  in 
the  half  hour  before  breakfast.  She  had  turned  red, 
and  lowered  her  eyes  on  first  catching  sight  of  him, 
but  he  took  care  to  have  no  remembrance  of  her  hu- 
miliation of  the  evening  before. 

"  You  know  I'm  leaving  you  immediately  after  break- 
fast? " 

"  But  you're  coming  back  again  before  long." 

"  Would  you  like  me  to?  " 

"  Yes,  very  much." 

"  And  if  I  don't,  will  you  be  very  sorry  ?  " 

"  Yes,  because  I  like  to  play  with  you  better  than 
with  Francis,"  she  explained.  (Francis  was  the  vicar's 
little  boy  who  sometimes  came  to  romp  about  the 
garden. ) 

"  Then  you  like  me  the  better  of  the  two?  " 

"  Yes,"  whispered  May,  blushing  and  hanging  her 
head. 

"  Well,  I'm  ever  so  sorry,  but  I  shan't  be  able  to 
come  back  here  for  an  awful  long  time,"  said  Preston 
sadly. 

"  Truly  ?  "  asked  May,  astonished. 

"  Truly,"  replied  Preston.  "  I  am  going  to  leave 
England  in  a  day  or  two,  and  it  is  possible  I  may  never 
return  at  all.  Of  course  I'll  try  to  come  back  some 
day,  but  you  see  I  may  get  killed,  as  I'm  going  to  live 
in  all  sorts  of  strange  countries." 

134 


THE  GUARDIAN  135 

"  I  should  like  to  go  to  strange  countries,"  said  May 
musingly. 

"With  me?" 

"  Yes,  with  you.     But  I  want  uncle  to  come,  too." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you'd  care  about  leaving 
your  home  here !  " 

"  Only  for  a  time.  Perhaps  uncle  will  take  me  when 
I'm  older.  But,  of  course,  I  should  always  like  my 
home  here  best.  Oh,  I  do  hope  you  won't  get  killed." 

"  I'll  try  my  hardest — because  I  want  to  come  back 
and  play  with  you  again.  But  by  then  you'll  have 
forgotten  all  about  me !  " 

"  Oh,  no !  I  shall  remember  you — truly." 

He  shook  his  head.  "  You'll  very  soon  be  liking 
Francis  instead  of  me." 

"  No.  Francis  never  plays  fair.  He  always  peeps 
out  on  the  sly  when  it's  his  turn  to  shut  his  eyes." 

"  Let  me  see — you're  six  now,  little  May  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be  seven  next  month,"  she  proclaimed 
proudly. 

"  I  shall  not  see  you  again  for  at  least  five  years — 
just  think,  almost  as  long  as  you've  been  alive  alto- 
gether." 

May  considered,  wrinkling  her  brow  prettily  in  the 
attempt  to  plumb  the  metaphysical  depths  of  this  com- 
parison. 

"  Of  course  you  don't  remember  when  you  first  began 
to  be  alive,"  Preston  resumed,  coming  to  her  assistance; 
"  but  you've  felt  alive  now  for  a  good  long  time,  haven't 
you?  Well,  just  think,  it  will  be  almost  as  long  again 
before  I  return  to  England.  You'll  be  nearly  twelve, 
and  quite  grown  up;  a  haughty  young  lady,  in  fact, 
who'll  be  giving  herself  airs,  and  who'll  stare  at  me  with- 
out recognizing  me." 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  May  indignantly. 

"  Then  you  will  be  thinking  of  me  sometimes." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  promised. 


136  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

"  And  you'll  continue  to  like  me?  " 

"  Of  course." 

"  Because,  you  know,  I'm  very  jealous  of  Master 
Francis." 

"  I  teU  you  I  don't  like  him  at  all." 

"  Will  you  always  like  me?  " 

"  Yes,  always,"  she  whispered  shyly,  hanging  her 
head  again. 

"  And  I  shall  always  like  you,"  said  Preston ;  "  better 
than  any  other  little  girl  in  the  world.  And  to  prove 
it,  I  have  in  my  pocket  a  ring  broken  in  halves.  I'm 
going  to  give  you  one  half,  the  other  I  shall  keep  my- 
self. You  must  take  great  care  of  yours  as  long  as 
you  remember  your  promise  to  me.  When  I  come  back, 
I  shall  show  you  my  half,  and  then  we  shall  see  whether 
you've  forgotten  or  not." 

He  fumbled  in  his  waistcoat  pocket,  and  brought  out 
the  two  portions  of  a  plain  gold  ring. 

"  It's  all  just  as  in  a  story-book,"  cried  May,  her  eyes 
sparkling  with  excitement. 

"  Now  take  your  half,"  said  Preston,  "  and  say :  '  I 
promise  faithfully  to  be  your  sweetheart  true  for  al- 
ways.' ' 

"  I  promise  faithfully  to  be  your  sweetheart  true  for 
always,"  she  breathed,  red  as  a  berry,  and  grasping  her 
half  tight. 

"  Remember,  you  mustn't  breathe  a  word  to  anybody 
in  the  world.  It's  a  secret  only  between  us  two." 

"  Yes,  it's  so  much  nicer  to  keep  it  a  secret,"  she 
agreed. 

"  You'll  kiss  me  now  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  murmured  her  assent,  and  he  stooped  to  bestow 
the  caress,  taking  her  face  between  his  hands.  Then 
hand-in-hand  they  made  their  way  back  to  the  house. 

May  loved  her  secret,  but  evidently  she  had  yet  to 
get  accustomed  to  it,  for  it  was  interfering  a  good  deal 
with  her  conversation.  Preston,  however,  was  perfectly 


THE  GUARDIAN  137 

at  his  ease,  and  spoke  freely  at  breakfast  of  his  coming 
adventures.  Now  and  again  his  eye  caught  May's,  and 
the  swift  look  that  passed  between  them  was  significant 
of  mutual  trust  and  assurance.  And  when  the  moment 
of  final  good-bye  arrived,  she  broke  down  and  sobbed; 
a  sorrow  into  which  Gwenny,  too,  was  caught  up,  so 
that  when  their  big  friend  at  last  disappeared,  the  two 
little  ladies  were  left  lamenting. 


PRESTON  accompanied  Hubert  up  to  his  very 
door-step  in  Pump  Court,  and  there  the  two 
men  gripped  hands  for  their  last  farewell. 
Preston's  ship — he  was  beginning  by  a  long 
voyage  on  a  sailing  vessel — was  to  be  off  with  the  tide 
on  Tuesday  at  midnight,  but  they  agreed  there  was  no 
point  in  seeing  each  other  again,  the  more  especially  as 
Preston  would  be  busily  occupied  up  to  the  very  last 
moment.  He  had  warned  Hubert  only  to  expect  letters 
at  long  and  irregular  intervals,  and  correspondence  for 
himself  would  have  the  best  chance  of  reaching  him  if 
sent  through  his  sister  Marian,  though  some  of  it  was 
fated  to  miss  fire  anyhow. 

"  There's  one  last  thing  I  must  mention,"  he  said 
smilingly,  as  they  still  held  hands.  "  My  bankers  will 
honour  your  signature  at  any  time  during  my  absence. 
I  have  given  them  an  authentic  one  cut  from  a  small 
cheque  you  once  sent  me." 

"  Oh,  but  I'm  so  prosperous  now,"  Hubert  assured 
him,  "  that  I  blush  for  shame  to  think  of  it." 

"  You  have  responsibilities  now,"  said  Preston,  with 
such  evident  concern  that  Hubert  could  scarcely  main- 
tain his  gravity.  "  And  if  the  emergency  arises,  I  shall 
think  it  a  most  unfriendly  act  if  you  do  not  immediately 
call  on  my  bankers." 

As  his  friend  turned  away,  an  intense  sadness  de- 
scended on  Hubert.  The  parting  was  an  accomplished 
fact! 

Five  years  would  go  by — the  earth  would  roll  round 
the  sun  five  times  in  indifference  to  the  coming  and 
going  of  men  on  its  surface — and,  if  both  were  still 

138 


THE  GUARDIAN  139 

alive,  they  might  grasp  hands  again.  What  an  eternity 
life  seemed,  yet  it  slipped  away  like  a  shadow.  With 
a  quick  plunge  into  the  world  of  memories,  he  seemed 
to  have  lived  and  worked  through  an  immense  stretch 
of  time.  And  yet  he  was  esteemed  comparatively  young ! 
He  had  a  line  from  Preston  on  board  ship  to  say  all 
was  well,  and  that  they  were  sailing  with  the  tide.  In 
imagination  Hubert  watched  the  vessel  glide  away  into 
the  night  till  at  last  its  lights  were  lost  beyond  some 
strange  distant  horizon. 


XI 

OKli  afternoon  late  in  the  same  week  Armstrong, 
as  a  special  treat,  had  taken  down  the  children 
to  the  station  to  meet  Hubert,  and  they  all 
drove  back  by  an  out-of-the-way  circuitous 
route  from  which  the  scenery  appeared  in  new  aspects. 
A  surprise  awaited  Hubert.  In  a  narrow  back  lane  an 
open  brougham,  with  a  fat  coachman  and  a  lean  groom 
perched  on  the  box,  came  rolling  towards  them,  and  as 
it  passed  his  own  modest  equipage  there  was  scarcely 
an  inch  to  spare.  From  his  comparatively  high  seat 
Hubert  looked  down  on  its  single  occupant,  a  dignified, 
white-haired  lady,  whose  deep-set  eyes  shone  out  re- 
markably. Then  he  noticed,  in  the  necessary  moment  of 
cautious  slackening  on  both  side,  that  her  finely-cut 
mouth  had  suddenly  relaxed  its  firmness,  and  that  she 
was  smiling  at  him.  A  half -moment  of  hesitating  blank- 
ness  and  then  a  flash  of  recognition.  It  was  Lady  Wy- 
cliffe.  Simultaneously  the  word  was  given,  and  they 
drew  up  within  twenty  feet  of  each  other.  Hubert 
descended  and  walked  back  to  Lady  Wycliffe's  carriage. 
She  greeted  him  winningly. 

"  Naturally  you  are  astonished — much  more  so  than 
I,"  she  said ;  "  but  I  have  been  looking  forward  for  a 
long  time  to  my  stay  in  this  neighbourhood.  I  was 
careful  not  to  mention  it  when  I  wrote  to  you,  as  I 
wanted  to  pay  you  a  surprise  visit  one  of  these  days.  I 
am  having  the  most  restful  time  with  Mrs.  Drummond 
— one  of  my  oldest  friends.  It  is  not  a  house-party — 
we  are  quite  alone.  When  she  first  suggested  I  should 
come  to  her  I  admit  I  was  tempted,  but  the  remembrance 
that  you  had  set  up  your  household  gods  in  the  very 

140 


THE  GUARDIAN  141 

neighbourhood,  vanquished  my  last  hesitation.  How- 
ever, it  appears  now  the  pleasure  of  coming  uninvited  is 
not  to  be  mine.  I  take  it  for  granted  you  will  be  kind- 
hearted  enough  to  wish  me  to  come  all  the  same." 

"  I  do  wish  it,"  he  replied  smilingly.  "  I  arrive  home 
somewhat  late  in  the  afternoon  usually,  so  I  suppose  the 
end  of  the  week  will  be  best  for  catching  me  at  the 
most  flagrant  worship  of  my  Lares  and  Penates." 

Her  face  lighted  up  with  pleasure. 

"  Yes,"  she  exclaimed  eagerly ;  "  and  I  shall  be  want- 
ing to  see  all  those  lovely  musty  books  you  wrote  about." 
Her  enthusiasm,  as  usual,  was  almost  girlish.  "  And 
those  are  the  children,  I  suppose,"  she  went  on  after  a 
slight  pause,  as  she  looked  back  towards  them.  "  May  I 
not  make  their  acquaintance  now?  " 

He  was  about  to  bring  them  to  her,  but  she  insisted 
on  leaving  her  carriage  and  walking  over  to  them. 

Gwenny  and  May  now  no  longer  felt  so  much  em- 
barrassment at  meeting  a  new  grown-up  person — espe- 
cially when  the  person  was  so  kind  and  gentle  and 
sweet-mannered  as  this  one.  Still  they  were  not  entirely 
free  from  shyness,  as  was  evident  from  their  subdued 
answers  to  her  friendly  questions  about  their  lessons  and 
their  games  and  the  parts  they  liked  best  in  the  beau- 
tiful country  round  about.  She  ended  by  kissing  them, 
telling  them  that  she  was  coming  to  see  them  soon, 
and  that  she  hoped  they  would  like  her  when  they  knew 
her  better. 

"  Such  dear  children ! "  she  said,  as  Hubert  saw  her 
into  her  carriage  again.  "  I  wish  I  could  help  in  some 
way,"  she  went  on  with  a  vagueness  out  of  which,  never- 
theless, her  good-will  shone  as  pure  gold. 

Then  Hubert,  speaking  on  impulse,  begged  her  friend- 
ship for  them.  "  As  you  may  have  supposed,  there  are 
but  few  people  with  whom  I  have  any  deeper  relation — 
any  real  bond.  The  years  have  brought  me  many  ac- 
quaintances, but  beyond  one  or  two  men-friends  there 


ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

is  nobody  who  really  cares.  My  little  girls  would  find 
themselves  alone,  face  to  face  with  the  world,  if  any  of 
the  mischances  of  the  world  carried  me  away.  The  fear 
weighs  heavily  on  me.  My  dearest  wish  is  that  they 
might  have  a  sympathetic  friend;  it  would  mean  so 
much  to  them  and  to  me." 

"  And  to  me,"  she  added,  with  the  kindest  of  smiles 
at  this  earnest  solicitude  of  his.  "  I  cannot  thank  you 
too  much  for  your  belief  in  me." 

He  spoke  out  his  gratitude  from  his  heart,  but  she 
cut  him  short  laughingly.  When  at  last  he  said  he 
must  not  detain  her  just  then,  she  would  not  hear  of  his 
leaving  her  yet,  but  kept  him  to  talk  to  her  for  some 
minutes  longer.  She  spoke  of  her  husband,  who  was 
now  yachting  among  the  fiords  with  Lord  William,  and 
she  narrated  proudly  how  the  doctor  who  had  advised 
the  cruise  had  been  struck  by  the  remarkable  condition 
of  Lord  Wycliffe's  heart,  which  was  as  good  and  sound 
as  that  of  a  young  man  of  thirty.  On  Hubert's  inquiring 
as  to  the  welfare  of  the  Hardynge's  he  observed  a 
change  come  over  her  face.  There  was  a  moment  of 
distinct  embarrassment  on  her  part  as  if  she  had  been 
taken  unawares.  But  she  was  soon  herself  again,  and 
he  heard  with  amused  surprise  that  there  had  been  a 
storm  in  the  Hardynge  family,  the  daughter,  Cissie, 
having  been  engaged  secretly  for  more  than  a  year 
before  that  fact  became  accidentally  known  to  her 
parents.  They  had  altogether  disapproved  of  her 
choice,  but  the  minx  was  as  headstrong  as  she  was  sly 
— Lady  Wycliffe  had  evidently  been  much  disillusioned 
about  poor  Miss  Hardynge  since  that  evening  on  which 
she  had  enlarged  so  glowingly  to  Preston  on  the  minx's 
virtues — and  had  carried  her  will  against  all  opposition. 
Lady  Wycliffe  shook  her  head  sadly,  and  gave  a  mild 
sigh  in  dismissal  of  the  subject. 

"  I  suppose  you  miss  your  friend  very  badly,"  she 
went  on  immediately.  "  We  were  all  so  sorry  to  hear  we 


THE  GUARDIAN  143 

were  to  lose  him  for  so  long,  or  rather  that  we  had  lost 
him  already ;  for  I  really  think  he  treated  us  all  shame- 
fully— running  off  in  that  precipitate  fashion.  But, 
as  my  husband  observed,  one  never  knows  what  to  ex- 
pect next  from  these  clever  young  men  now-a-days.  Ah, 
well,  I  suppose  we  must  forgive  him." 

Hubert  felt  perceptibly  happier  during  the  remainder 
of  the  homeward  drive,  and  so  immersed  was  he  in 
thought  that  he  forgot  to  continue  his  expatiation  on 
the  landscape,  interrupted  by  the  sudden  encounter. 
But  that  was  of  little  consequence.  For  May,  who  had 
gone  about  puffed  up  with  pride  since  Preston's  de- 
parture, and  who  esteemed  herself  immeasurably  in  ad- 
vance of  Gwenny,  was  busy  pondering  on  her  big  secret ; 
whilst  Gwenny  herself,  being  naturally  addicted  to  medi- 
tation, had  little  difficulty  in  likewise  occupying  herself 
with  her  own  reflections. 


XII 

y^S  a  matter  of  habit  it  was  hard  for  Hubert  ever 

/J      to  conceive  of  Constance  except  as  overtaken 

^4   M         by  some  fresh  calamity ;  and  so,  when  in  the 

following  February   (and  some  four  months 

after  her  wedding)  he  received  one  of  her  sudden  letters, 

his  misgivings  were  so  great  that  for  a  time  he  hesitated 

to  open  it. 

He  was  soon  to  find  that  his  instinct  was  once  again 
only  too  amply  justified.  His  blood  grew  hot  as  he  read, 
and  when  he  threw  down  the  sheet  he  could  scarcely  see 
for  the  mist  that  swam  before  him.  "  Willie,"  the  scape- 
grace darling  of  the  North  Kensington  stronghold  of 
respectability,  had  had  to  fly  the  country.  In  legal 
parlance  he  had  "  feloniously  intermarried  with  Con- 
stance Powers,  his  wife,  Cynthia  Frances  Barton  being 
still  alive."  Cynthia,  it  had  now  come  out,  had  married 
him  quietly  three  years  before  at  some  out-of-the-way 
place  in  the  North.  They  had  disagreed  very  shortly 
after,  and  she  had  joined  a  theatrical  company  going 
out  for  a  tour  in  South  Africa.  At  the  Cape  she  had 
followed  her  own  caprices,  till  one  day  she  was  seized 
with  the  whim  to  return  to  her  husband.  Barton,  who 
had  thought  himself  well  quit  of  her,  and  who  attributed 
to  her  similar  sentiments  with  regard  to  himself,  had 
stupidly  supposed  that  Cynthia — especially  with  her 
easy  views  of  matrimony — would  never  bother  him  again. 
But  she  had  turned  up  and  made  a  terrific  scene;  and 
Barton,  mad  with  fright,  had  immediately  disappeared. 
The  scandal  had  got  abroad,  North  Kensington  and 
South  Kensington  were  both  paralyzed  (though  stonily 
unsympathetic),  and  Constance  was  left  in  the  lurch 

144 


THE  GUARDIAN  145 

without  a  husband  and  without  resources.  She  had 
somewhat  recovered  from  the  first  rude  shock,  but  she 
was  still  too  prostrated  to  do  anything  but  just  He 
dazed  across  her  bed. 

"  I  thought  he  looked  a  scoundrel ! "  exclaimed  Hu- 
bert with  conviction.  "  Poor  Constance !  "  He  remem- 
bered with  a  shudder  all  the  wistful  romantic  emotion 
the  affair  had  afforded  her  in  its  earlier  stages. 

She  had  written  from  an  address  near  Eccleston 
Square,  not  far  from  her  old  rooms,  and  there  Hubert 
hastened  the  very  next  afternoon.  It  was  a  street  of 
narrow,  two-storeyed  houses  with  tiny  doors  standing 
stiff  at  the  top  of  flights  of  steps.  The  winter  air  was 
raw  and  misty,  night  had  already  fallen,  and  the  lamps 
twinkled  dismally  down  the  wet,  bleak  perspective.  Hu- 
bert was  glad  when  the  door  opened  at  last. 

He  was  ushered  up  to  the  first  floor  and  into  a  poky, 
gas-lit  room  with  a  big  round  table  in  the  middle,  a 
wheezy-looking  piano  across  a  corner,  and  a  confused 
assemblage  of  rep-covered  chairs,  whatnots,  shells,  photo- 
graplis,  and  paper  fans  everywhere  else,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  gilt-framed  smudges  and  drab  hangings — the 
effect  of  all  of  which  was  immediately  to  set  his  teeth 
on  edge.  Constance  was  sitting  languidly  by  the  fire. 

She  was  visibly  a  wreck.  Her  face  was  deathly  pale 
and  her  eyes  were  worn  with  weeping.  She  had  scarcely 
the  strength  to  rise  to  welcome  him,  though  she  tried  to 
put  a  smiling  face  on  her  misery,  jocularly  referring  to 
her  unlucky  star,  half  with  laughter,  half  with  tears. 
She  was  all  but  living  on  charity,  he  learnt;  for,  rather 
than  go  back  to  her  father's  home,  she  had  preferred 
to  accept  the  generous  hospitality  of  a  more  prosperous 
girl-friend  whose  lodgings  these  were.  Not  that  her 
father  had  extended  any  invitation  to  her,  but  she  would 
not  make  the  first  overtures,  and  even  in  that  case  sub- 
mission would  have  been  attended  by  intolerable  condi- 
tions. But  for  her  friend,  Queenie,  she  could  scarcely 


146  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

have  been  able  to  pull  through  the  present  crisis. 
Queenie — didn't  he  remember  the  dark,  slim  girl  in 
green,  with  the  big  Gainsborough  hat? — was  very  fond 
of  her,  and  had  been  ever  so  good  to  her.  She  would  be 
home  from  rehearsal  soon,  and  if  he  had  a  little  time 
to  spare  they  might  all  have  tea  together. 

He  asked  her  where  Barton  was  now,  but  she  hadn't 
the  least  idea.  All  she  was  sure  of  was  that  he  had 
left  England.  She  was  anxious  not  to  use  hard  words 
about  him,  but  there  was  no  doubt  he  was  utterly  selfish 
and  devoid  of  moral  sense.  She  saw  him  in  his  true 
light  now.  Certainly  she  herself  had  deteriorated  under 
his  influence ;  her  conscience  had  slumbered  whilst  she  had 
assented  to  living  quite  beyond  their  means,  so  that  so 
far  from  their  joint  efforts  having  resulted  in  the  wiping 
out  of  her  debts,  all  his  fine  sentiment  and  talk  had 
come  to  nothing,  and  she  was  now  in  a  worse  financial 
plight  than  ever  in  her  life.  But  this  latter  fact  had, 
at  last,  lost  its  power  to  trouble  her  mind,  for  in  her 
desperation  she  was  callous  of  everything  now;  domi- 
nated only  by  a  frenzied  impatience  with  the  physical 
weakness  which  hindered  the  one  desire  of  her  existence 
— work,  work,  work ! 

It  was  painful  for  Hubert  to  listen  to  her,  but  he 
let  her  talk  almost  without  interruption,  as  he  felt  it 
was  good  for  her  to  have  a  vent  for  her  excitement: 
though  once  or  twice,  indeed,  he  had  to  try  to  calm 
her,  her  emotion  for  the  moment  becoming  almost  uncon- 
trollable. Meanwhile,  he  had  taken  up  mechanically 
a  theatrical  paper  that  happened  to  be  lying  on  the 
table,  and  his  fingers  were  idly  turning  the  pages. 
Presently  she  directed  his  attention  to  the  portrait  of 
a  woman  at  the  top  of  one  of  the  columns.  "  Cynthia !  " 
she  exclaimed,  trembling  and  catching  her  breath 
hysterically. 

Hubert  looked  at  the  portrait  with  interest.  Cynthia 
was  a  very  pretty  girl,  and  she  seemed  to  flaunt  her 


THE  GUARDIAN  147 

smile  at  him  from  the  printed  page.  He  could  imagine 
her  kissing  her  finger-tips  to  a  music-hall  audience. 
The  picture  was  accompanied  by  a  short  biography — 
most  judiciously  selected;  and  she  was  credited  with 
having  done  brilliantly  in  South  Africa. 

"  She  is  gifted,  and  will  be  at  the  top  of  the  tree  one 
day.  But  she  is  absolutely  without  a  soul,  and  takes 
her  experiences  as  they  come.  Nothing  leaves  any  mark 
on  her.  Her  fancy  for  William  was  only  a  caprice,  but 
I  suppose  she  has  done  me  a  service." 

Hubert,  who  was  revolving  in  his  mind  how  he  might 
best  induce  Constance  to  permit  him  to  be  of  help  to 
her,  was  impelled  to  ask,  apropos  of  her  finances,  what 
had  become  of  her  old  rooms  and  her  "  speculation  in 
lodgings." 

"  It  was  a  bad  speculation,"  she  admitted  ruefully. 
"  I  never  got  my  rent  from  anybody.  My  upstairs 
tenants,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Roland  Grainger — you  remember 
them? — found  themselves  unable  to  pay  me  a  penny, 
but  I  liked  them  because  they  were  always  so  happy 
and  cheerful,  and  were  constantly  lecturing  me  for  not 
taking  life  more  easily.  As  they  were  always  going  to 
pay,  and  as,  of  course,  I  couldn't  possibly  ask  such 
friends  to  leave,  I  ended  by  being  the  victim  of  their 
philosophy.  Evidently  I  was  never  destined  for  a  land- 
lady. And  poor  Plantagenet  who  took  my  own  rooms 
on  the  ground  floor  was  down  on  his  luck  and  couldn't 
pay  either.  You  met  him,  too,  once  upon  a  time — he 
has  a  fine  head  of  hair,  and  a  weakness  for  the  aristo- 
cracy." 

"  I  recall  the  young  man  most  distinctly,"  said  Hu- 
bert smiling. 

"  And  so  in  the  end  all  my  furniture  was  seized,  and 
my  friends  were  turned  out  into  the  cold.  But  they 
all  seem  to  have  taken  it  with  their  usual  cheerfulness, 
and  are  quite  as  comfortably  fixed  up  somewhere  else." 

The  disaster  that  had  overtaken  her  could  scarcely 


148  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

have  been  more  complete,  Hubert  reflected.  Yet,  as 
he  was  glad  to  see,  she  still  looked  forward  to  work, 
so  could  not  have  lost  hope  in  the  future.  He  certainly 
did  not  think  that  her  whole  life  was  to  be  looked 
upon  as  spoiled  because  of  what  had  happened — terrible 
though  that  was.  He  saw  the  case  clearly.  She  needed 
medical  attention  and  proper  nourishment,  and  a  long 
rest  under  some  more  genial  sky.  Thus  reinvigorated, 
she  might  take  up  her  work  again  with  renewed  enthu- 
siasm and  even  find  enough  in  life  to  base  her  future 
happiness  upon.  Surely  misfortune  would  not  dog  her 
always.  He  was  on  the  point  of  setting  before  her 
these  thoughts  of  his,  and  urging  her  to  accept  his  help 
to  the  not  very  formidable  extent  necessary,  but  he 
was  prevented  from  proceeding  further  by  the  arrival, 
just  then,  of  Miss  Queenie  Wilson  from  rehearsal. 

Hubert  recognized  her  at  once,  especially  as  she  wore 
the  same  hat  and  the  same  green  dress  as  on  the  last 
occasion  of  their  meeting.  Yet,  divested  of  the  Gains- 
borough hat,  she  seemed  a  homely  creature  enough,  as 
unaffectedly  plain  as  she  was  kind-hearted. 

And  though  his  intimate  conversation  with  Constance 
had  thus  been  interrupted,  Hubert  was  at  any  rate 
pleased  to  notice  how  she  had  brightened  at  the  entry 
of  her  friend.  Miss  Wilson,  indeed,  was  a  brisk,  cheery 
person  who  gave  him  a  hearty  hand-shake,  and  whose 
voice  seemed  to  ring  life  at  once  into  the  dull,  drab 
room.  She  ordered  tea  without  more  ado,  then  announced 
she  had  good  news. 

"  For  me ! "  exclaimed  Constance,  opening  her  eyes 
wide. 

"  Yes,  for  you,"  Miss  Wilson  assured  her,  and  the 
"  good  news "  was  presently  joyously  welcomed  both 
by  Hubert  and  Constance.  Briefly,  Miss  Wilson  was 
to  take  the  piece  now  under  rehearsal  into  the  provinces 
during  the  summer  for  her  London  managers,  and,  as 
there  was  an  excellent  part  that  was  the  very  thing  for 


THE  GUARDIAN  149 

Constance,  she  had  at  once  seized  the  opportunity  of 
securing  it  for  her.  This  certainly  meant  a  considerable 
alleviation  in  Constance's  present  situation,  though 
the  intervening  months  were  still  to  be  provided  for. 
And  here  Hubert  would  have  liked  to  put  forward  his 
own  suggestion  for  the  solution  of  this  remaining  dif- 
ficulty. But  he  felt  it  would  not  be  right  to  say  what 
he  had  in  mind  even  before  Miss  Wilson. 

As  tea  was  brought  just  then,  he  consented  to  stay 
a  little  while  longer,  and  he  was  gratified  to  see  Con- 
stance's spirits  mounting  each  moment.  Indeed,  he  felt 
distinctly  easier  when,  at  last,  he  took  his  leave  and 
descended  the  narrow  stairway  into  the  dismal  evening. 

Though  tired,  he  wrote  to  her  that  same  night  to 
say  that,  as  she  had  taken  him  so  far  into  her  confidence, 
and  as  they  were  very  good  friends,  he  thought  she 
might  let  him  know  more  exactly  to  whom  she  was 
indebted,  and  to  what  extent — since  he  understood  she 
was  still  being  tormented  by  threats  and  demands.  It 
would  certainly  conduce  to  her  peace  of  mind  if  some- 
body were  to  see  her  creditors  and  persuade  them  to 
cease  harassing  her  for  the  present.  There  ought  really 
to  be  no  difficulty  in  getting  them  to  take  a  reasonable 
view  of  the  situation.  Also,  in  order  that  she  might 
give  herself  a  chance  to  get  strong  enough  to  undertake 
any  work  at  all,  or  at  least  to  be  ready  for  her  summer's 
engagement,  it  was  necessary  for  her  to  go  to  some 
sunnier  clime — he  should  recommend  the  Riviera  him- 
self— and,  for  that  purpose,  she  was  to  use  him  as  her 
banker  for  awhile.  He  phrased  this  desire  of  his  rather 
peremptorily,  so  as  to  hypnotize  her  into  unresisting 
obedience.  Then,  almost  taking  it  for  granted  that  she 
would  adopt  the  suggestion,  he  went  on  in  a  very 
chatty  way  to  recommend  an  hotel  at  which  he  had  once 
stayed,  describing  it  in  humourous  detail,  and  recalling 
some  of  the  people  who  had  assisted  at  table  d'hote.  He 
also  gave  her  a  few  impressions  of  the  principality  and 


150  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

gaily  enjoined  her  not  to  be  tempted  by  the  tables  to 
retrieve  her  position. 

To  his  surprise  her  reply  gave  the  most  despairing 
note  she  had  yet  uttered.  His  goodness  was  over- 
whelming, but  life  was  over,  and  everything,  therefore, 
useless.  Even  Miss  Wilson's  good  news  had  been  an 
irony,  for — she  had  been  unable  to  bring  herself  to 
whisper  it  to  him  the  day  before — she  was  to  become 
a  mother!  She  had  wanted  work  immediately  so  as 
to  get  a  little  money,  but  the  offer  for  the  summer  was, 
under  the  circumstances,  a  mockery.  Yesterday  she  had 
done  her  best  to  bear  up  in  order  not  to  sadden  her 
two  friends.  Her  pleasure  at  Miss  Wilson's  announce- 
ment was,  in  fact,  a  pure  piece  of  acting,  and  to-day 
she  was  suffering  from  a  terrible  depression.  Besides — 
though  she  did  not  know  why — his  letter  had  quite 
unnerved  her  and  set  her  crying  bitterly. 

Hubert  laughed  grimly.  The  case  was  as  thoroughly 
bad  as  it  could  be.  Still  he  would  not  be  discouraged; 
he  fully  meant  to  see  that  this  life,  with  which  he  was 
now  in  such  intimate  touch,  was  not  to  make  shipwreck 
— in  so  far,  at  least,  as  he  was  able  to  influence  it.  The 
very  depth  of  her  despair  made  him  only  the  more 
resolute.  She  needed  cool,  firm  handling,  and  a  little 
money  would  accomplish  the  rest.  It  would  really  be 
absurd  if  he  could  not  manage  to  reason  her  into  a 
more  cheerful  mood  and  make  her  see  the  perfectly 
obvious  fact  that  there  was  a  future  before  her. 

But,  before  he  could  make  a  further  descent  upon  her, 
she  wrote  to  tell  him  that  an  offer  of  help  had  come 
from  an  unexpected  quarter.  Willie's  father  had  called 
to  see  her,  and  she  was  now  full  of  remorse  for  the 
unjust  conception,  she  had  always  had  of  him.  True, 
he  had  put  on  a  chill  formal  manner;  nevertheless,  she 
had  felt  he  was  really  heart-broken.  Although  he  had 
never  welcomed  or  even  recognized  her  as  his  daughter- 
in-law,  he  desired  that  she  should  not  be  left  in  want 


THE  GUARDIAN  151 

through  his  son's  wicked  folly,  and  he,  therefore,  was 
anxious  to  place  at  her  disposal  the — to  her — fabulous 
sum  of  a  thousand  pounds.  "  I  could  not  prevail  upon 
myself  to  accept  it  there  and  then — I  somehow  did  not 
feel  it  was  right  for  me  to  take  anything  from  him. 
But  he  said  I  could  think  the  matter  over,  and  that 
I  should  find  the  money  available  at  any  time.  If  you 
could  spare  a  little  time  to  come  and  see  poor  me  again 
I  should  be  so  grateful.  My  own  poor  head  is  too  weak 
to  think,  so  I  want  you  to  think  for  me,  and  I  shall 
accept  your  counsel  unreservedly." 

This  distinctly  pleasanter  turn  of  events  was  really 
not  surprising  when  Hubert  came  to  think  about  it. 
The  West  Indian  merchant  was  a  respectable,  right- 
minded  man,  who,  though  stiff,  precise  and  despotic — 
so  Hubert  pictured  him — was  bound  to  act  on  consid- 
erations of  humanity.  Hubert  never  hesitated  for  a 
moment  as  to  the  desirability  of  Constance's  accepting 
this  offer.  He  would  not  allow  himself  to  think  there 
was  anything  unworthy  in  the  idea  of  her  receiving 
money  from  such  a  source.  Indeed,  he  was  highly 
elated  at  her  wish  to  follow  his  guidance.  Should  she 
exhibit  any  sign  of  backsliding,  he  meant  to  be  strong 
with  her  to  the  point  of  highhandedness  and  override 
her  last  scruples. 

She  was  still  listless  and  physically  weak  when  he 
saw  her  again,  but  she  seemed  to  be  ashamed  of  her 
previous  utter  collapse,  and  anxious  to  put  herself  in  a 
better  light  before  his  eyes.  He,  therefore,  found  her 
more  responsive  to  his  optimistic  view  of  the  future 
than  he  had  expected.  Her  remorse,  too,  for  all  her 
former  prejudiced  thoughts  of  Mr.  Barton  was  now 
greater  than  ever. 

"  Of  course  he  has  his  own  views  of  life,  and  I  ought 
not  to  have  resented  their  being  different  from  mine. 
Poor  man !  I  could  see  how  crushed  he  was  in  spite 
of  all  his  gruff  ness.  I  believe  at  bottom  he  is  just  as 


152  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

nice  as  he  can  be.  He  said  he  had  already  called  once 
before  but  missed  me.  But  I  never  for  a  moment 
imagined  it  was  he,  especially  as  he  never  left  his  name." 
Hubert  was  already  aware  that  it  was  one  of  Con- 
stance's characteristics  to  be  unable  to  speak  adversely 
of  anybody  without  having  it  on  her  mind  and  retract- 
ing on  the  first  opportunity,  with  handsome  appre- 
ciation into  the  bargain  of  the  good  side  of  the  person 
she  felt  she  had  wronged.  He  was,  therefore,  cunningly 
able  to  utilize  her  remorse  by  pointing  out,  as  a  further 
argument  for  the  acceptance  of  Mr.  Barton's  offer, 
that  a  refusal  on  her  part  would  probably  inflict  a 
grievous  hurt.  It  was  not  as  if  she  were  receiving  mere 
vulgar  compensation;  the  act  was  one  of  real  humanity 
on  the  part  of  the  father,  and  was  wholly  honourable 
to  him.  She  must  accept  the  money  in  the  same  spirit 
of  good-will  as  it  was  offered.  And  to  preclude  any 
possibility  of  her  going  back  upon  her  present  mood,  he 
judged  it  best  to  dictate  to  her  at  once  a  letter  for  Mr. 
Barton,  which  he  took  care  to  bear  away  with  him  and 
post  on  his  homeward  way.  But  before  he  left  he  was 
amply  satisfied,  from  the  indications  of  her  tone, 
manner,  and  conversation,  that  her  mind  was  accustom- 
ing itself  to  the  new  outlook,  and  that  she  was  on  the 
high  road  to  recovery — at  least  to  the  extent  possible 
for  a  soul  that  has  lived  through  so  gross  an  experience. 


Book  III 
The  Wooer 


THOUGH  Mrs.  Ruthven  had  spent  one  of  her 
happy  fortnights  of  high-handed  speech  and 
deed  in  her  son's  house,  she  was  yet  fated  to 
return  to  her  own  home  in  a  more  perturbed 
state  of  mind  than  when  she  had  left  it.      Immediate 
contact  with  Hubert's   existence,  over  which,  with  ad- 
vancing years,  she  had  come  to  brood  more  and  more, 
invariably  excited  her  imagination,  and  the  danger  of 
his  making  an  unsuitable  marriage  kept  thrusting  itself 
into  agitating  prominence.     The  world  seemed  full  of 
horrible  grimy  webs  for  Hubert  to  flounder  into. 

Even  that  afternoon's  visit  of  Miss  Williams,  who  had 
brought  over  her  friend,  Madame  Bartolozzi,  for  tea 
on  the  lawn,  had  made  the  danger  seem  vividly  threaten- 
ing. It  annoyed  her  to  think  that,  in  the  three  years 
that  had  slipped  away  since  Hubert  had  settled  here, 
he  had  absolutely  refrained  from  endeavouring  to  create 
for  himself  a  social  position  in  his  own  neighbourhood. 
The  social  system  in  which  she  had  grown  up  was 
inblent  in  her  very  soul,  and  she  could  no  more  think 
outside  of  it  than  she  could  escape  from  the  law  of 
gravitation.  Therefore  her  son's  mode  of  life  was  almost 
inconceivable  to  her.  She  desired  him  to  marry — though 
to  marry  well.  In  no  eligible  direction,  so  far  as  she 
was  aware,  was  he  considering  the  possibility.  And  the 
wisdom  derived  from  so  many  decades  of  lynx-eyed 
watching  of  other  people's  affairs  told  her  that  a  bachelor 
who  avoids  society  may  at  any  moment,  by  the  awaken- 
ing of  a  certain  impulsive  sentimentalism,  find  himself 
possessed  of  a  wife — and  one  scandalously  beneath  him 
too! 

155 


156  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

But  in  all  other  respects  the  tea-party  had  been  of 
the  pleasantest,  and,  as  Mrs.  Ruthven  sat  in  the  warm 
sunshine  of  the  beautiful  August  afternoon — Hubert 
having  gone  to  accompany  the  visitors  some  little  dis- 
tance on  their  stroll  back  to  Lynford,  and  the  children 
to  take  indoors  and  share  a  portfolio  of  music  Miss 
Williams  had  brought  for  them — she  was  still  conscious 
of  the  charm  the  two  callers  had  exercised  over  her.  Miss 
Williams  was  a  very  nice  girl,  indeed;  what  a  pity  she 
was  the  penniless  daughter  of  a  humble  country  doctor ! 
But  the  elder  woman,  in  particular,  had  quite  fascinated 
her.  There  was  something,  in  fact,  about  Madame 
Bartolozzi's  personality  that  touched  some  odd  romantic 
chord  of  her  nature.  Besides,  Mrs.  Ruthven  rather  en- 
joyed the  luxury  of  an  occasional  admiration. 

Just  passing  beyond  middle  age,  Madame  Bartolozzi 
was  endowed  with  a  pleasing  distinction  of  feature, 
appropriate  to  her  years;  the  worthy  sequel  to  earlier 
beauty  rather  than  its  faded  remnant.  She  had,  too,  a 
charming  way  with  her,  easy  and  gracious,  yet  never 
without  a  touch  of  dignity ;  and  she  talked  in  the  sweet- 
est and  softest  of  voices  with  a  becoming  soupfon  of  the 
foreigner  in  her  utterance. 

Yet,  as  Mrs.  Ruthven  well  knew — for  she  had  heard 
from  Hubert  beforehand  all  about  Madame  Bartolozzi 
— this  fascinating  acquaintance  of  his  was  scarcely  a 
foreigner.  Though  born,  educated  and  married  abroad, 
she  was  yet  of  English  parentage.  Early  wedded  and 
early  a  widow,  she  had  found  consolation  for  the  loss 
of  her  husband — she  had  been  bred  a  strict  Catholic — 
in  the  cultivation  of  an  extraordinary  devoutness.  And, 
possessed  of  high  musical  gifts,  she  had  been  able  to 
support  herself  and  to  achieve  some  reputation  both  as 
a  singer  and  a  teacher,  and  in  a  minor  degree  as  a  com- 
poser. She  was  an  old  friend  of  the  Williams  (with 
whom  she  was  staying  at  present),  the  mother  having 
been  one  of  her  first  pupils;  and  Miss  Williams  had 


THE  WOOER  157 

first  brought  her  to  the  house  for  the  purpose  of 
testing  Gwenny's  voice,  which  was  excitingly  prom- 
ising. 

The  tea-things  had  not  yet  been  removed  from  the 
little  table  at  which  Mrs.  Ruthven  had  presided,  on 
behalf  of  her  son,  with  such  pride  and  satisfaction,  and 
the  empty  basket-chairs  stood  about  in  humourous  testi- 
mony to  their  recent  sociable  employment.  Gwenny 
had  sat  close  to  Madame  Bartolozzi,  listening  with  all 
ears  to  the  big  people.  And  mixed  with  Mrs.  Ruthven's 
present  reflection  as  to  the  rapid  way  in  which  Gwenny 
had  shot  up  the  last  year  or  two — completely  out- 
stripping her  younger  sister,  in  fact — was  this  new  dis- 
trust created  by  the  appearance  on  the  scene  of  so  bril- 
liant and  therefore  dangerous  a  person.  Not  that  she 
supposed  that  Madame  Bartolozzi  would  set  her  own 
cap  at  Hubert;  but  a  clever  woman  like  that  who  was 
so  obviously  fond  of  Miss  Williams  must  surely,  she 
argued,  have  conceived  the  idea  of  bringing  about,  by 
every  possible  subtlety  of  manoeuvring,  so  ideal  a  mar- 
riage for  her  young  friend  as  the  position  naturally 
suggested.  For  the  moment,  indeed,  Madame  Bartolozzi 
loomed  in  Mrs.  Ruthven's  eyes  as  the  embodied  poten- 
tiality of  skilful  manoeuvring.  Hubert  needed  her  ma- 
ternal care — for  how  could  the  boy  cope  with  so  mena- 
cing a  combination? 

It  was  characteristic  of  Mrs.  Ruthven  that,  however 
busy  her  mind  with  contemplation,  the  intensity  of  her 
inward  vision  interfered  but  little  with  the  keenness  of 
her  outward  vision;  and  at  the  moment  when  her  reflec- 
tions were  at  their  gloomiest  she  did  not  fail  to  observe 
that  the  figure  of  a  young  woman  had  suddenly  emerged 
from  amid  the  pines  at  the  bottom  of  the  long  lawn. 
This  new  visitor  came  forward  a  few  steps,  then  halted 
abruptly  on  seeing  Mrs.  Ruthven.  For  an  instant  she 
hung  back  in  evident  embarrassment,  then,  with  de- 
cision, came  straight  to  meet  Mrs.  Ruthven's  inquiring 


158  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

gaze,  which  softened  before  the  gentility  that  gleamed 
from  this  apparent  intruder. 

"  I  am  quite  aware  I  have  wandered  on  to  private 
property,"  said  the  "  simply  dressed,  ladylike  and  quite 
nice-looking  person " — as  Mrs.  Ruthven  was  at  that 
moment  summing  her  up — in  a  tone  whose  quiet,  half- 
humourous  confidence  impressed  Hubert's  mother  still 
further ;  "  but,  as  I  happened  to  know  the  secret,  I 
thought  I'd  creep  in  through  the  back  way  in  the  hope 
of  surprising  somebody  or  other  on  the  lawn.  Un- 
fortunately I  have  intruded  on  a  stranger." 

"  I  am  sorry  you  did  not  know  the  house  had  changed 
occupants,"  said  Mrs.  Ruthven  kindly,  though  mis- 
taken in  her  conclusion. 

"  Oh,  really,"  exclaimed  the  perplexed  Constance 
Powers,  reddening  a  little.  "  I  had  no  idea.  You  must 
forgive  me  for  disturbing  you." 

"  Pray  do  not  distress  yourself  in  the  least — there  is 
no  harm  done,"  said  Mrs.  Ruthven  suavely. 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you  not  to  be  annoyed,"  said 
Constance.  "  I  suppose  I  had  better  go  back  as  I 
came." 

She  smiled  and  bowed,  receiving  an  affable  "  good 
day  "  in  return.  There  the  little  incident  might  have 
ended  if  May  had  not  just  then  caught  sight  of  her  and 
hurried  out  to  greet  her.  Constance,  on  the  very  point 
of  turning  away,  saw  the  child  appear  on  the  verandah 
and  stared  in  wonder,  then  presently  laughed  as  it  came 
upon  her  that  she  had  been  addressing  Hubert's  mother, 
who  probably  did  not  even  know  of  her  existence,  and 
who  certainly  would  not  approve  of  so  unconventional 
a  proceeding  as  her  visit  here. 

Mrs.  Ruthven  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  amazed  at 
their  evident  acquaintanceship. 

"  I  fear  it  is  all  a  mistake,"  explained  Constance.  "  I 
am  in  the  neighbourhood  for  the  first  time  for  several 
months,  and  naturally  I  wished  to  see  my  little  friends. 


THE  WOOER  159 

You,  I  assume,  are  Mrs.  Ruthven,  and  I  am  Miss 
Powers." 

Her  easy  certainty  of  tone  and  manner  was  effective 
in  allaying  any  renewed  misgivings  on  Mrs.  Ruthven's 
part. 

"  Miss  Powers — Miss  Powers  ?  "  she  repeated  in  an 
effort  to  identify  the  name. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  suppose  you  know  my  name,"  said 
Constance,  whose  hand  May  had  now  taken  caressingly. 
*'  I  am  only  an  obscure  one  of  your  son's  many  acquaint- 
ances, but  the  little  girls  have  taken  a  fancy  to  me  and  I 
return  their  affection,  so  I  try  to  see  them  when  I  can, 
and  that  is  seldom  indeed.  And  where  is  Gwenny,  my 
dear  ?  "  she  went  on,  addressing  May. 

"  Gwen  will  be  here  soon,  and  so,  I  expect,  will  uncle. 
I'm  so  glad  you've  come  to-day,  because  we're  going  to 
Dieppe  for  our  holiday  and  you  might  easily  have 
missed  us." 

"  Pray  be  seated,  Miss  Powers,"  said  Mrs.  Ruthven, 
and,  anxious  to  atone  for  her  too  hasty  assumption,  she 
hospitably  went  on  to  offer  the  visitor  tea. 

Soon  they  were  joined  by  Gwenny,  whose  greeting  to 
the  visitor  was  not  less  enthusiastic  than  her  sister's. 
But  Mrs.  Ruthven  had  again  relapsed  into  thought. 
"  Powers — Powers,"  she  was  muttering  to  herself. 

"  Pray  excuse  my  question,"  she  exclaimed,  as  her 
face  suddenly  lighted  up  in  indication  that  her  mental 
searching  had  been  successful ;  "  but  used  there  not  to 
be  an  old  county  family  in  Bedfordshire  of  the  name 
of  Powers.  Perhaps  you  are  a  connection." 

"  My  father's  family,  no  doubt,"  said  Constance,  sur- 
prised at  this  accurate  identification. 

"  I  remember  there  was  a  John  Powers  who  was 
thrown  from  his  horse  and  killed  when  I  was  a  girl. 
His  two  younger  sons  were  in  the  navy,  and  the  eldest 
then  went  up  to  London  and  obtained,  as  I  was  told, 
some  civil  appointment.  The  estate,  you  see,  was 


160  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

heavily  mortgaged  and  passed  into  other  hands,  and  the 
family  practically  disappeared  from  the  society  of  the 
neighbourhood . " 

"  The  eldest  son  was  my  father."  Constance  had  to 
struggle  to  avoid  a  burst  of  merriment  at  the  notion  that 
her  family's  antecedents  should  be  so  well  known  to 
Hubert's  mother. 

"  I  was  slightly  acquainted  with  your  father  in  those 
days.  We  danced  together  once  or  twice,"  went  on 
Mrs.  Ruthven,  radiantly  affable,  for  the  Powers  family 
had  been  a  "  really  excellent  "  one. 

Very  soon  Mrs.  Ruthven  was  in  the  full  flood  of  en- 
tertaining the  visitor  with  reminiscences  of  those  early 
times,  and  of  the  doings  of  the  powers  in  the  county, 
though  at  heart  not  quite  free  from  perplexity  as  to  the 
status  of  Constance  in  relation  to  her  son's  household, 
and  as  to  how  exactly  her  presence  might  be  justified 
according  to  the  nuances  of  social  custom. 

When  Hubert  returned  he  was  amazed  to  the  point  of 
speechlessness  to  find  Constance  sipping  tea  and  appar- 
ently on  the  best  of  terms  with  his  mother.  However, 
he  shook  hands  with  the  visitor  as  if  her  presence  were 
a  matter  of  course,  hoped  she  was  well,  and  said  it  was 
very  good  of  her  to  look  them  up — all  with  a  calmness 
that  left  his  mother  as  unenlightened  as  before;  then, 
entering  adroitly  into  the  conversation,  he  manifested  a 
well-bred  interest  in  the  county  life  amid  which  Mrs. 
Ruthven  had  passed  her  girlhood. 

After  a  further  short  stay,  punctiliously  correct  in 
point  of  duration,  Constance  rose  to  take  her  leave  and 
brought  the  unfortunate  surprise  visit  to  an  end  as  com- 
posedly as  she  had  begun  it  by  asking  if  it  would  be 
too  far  for  the  children  to  come  to  Yominster  the  next 
afternoon.  She  was  leaving  that  place,  she  explained, 
the  first  thing  on  Tuesday  morning,  so  would  have  no 
other  opportunity  of  asking  them  to  tea  with  her. 
Yominster  was  five  miles  away,  and  in  the  opposite 


THE  WOOER  161 

direction  from  Lynford,  so  that  Armstrong  might  easily 
drive  them  across  and  bring  them  back  again.  But 
Hubert  had  already  arranged  to  take  them  up  to  London 
in  the  morning  on  a  little  shopping  expedition  in  prep- 
aration for  the  trip  to  Dieppe  on  which  they  were  to 
start  in  a  few  days,  and  now  some  discussion  arose  as 
to  whether  the  children  would  not  be  too  fatigued  to 
undertake  a  second  expedition  in  the  afternoon.  Gwenny 
and  May  were,  however,  quite  indignant  at  the  implied 
aspersion  on  their  powers  of  endurance.  The  shopping 
was  all  to  be  done  in  one  or  two  big  places  and  could 
not  occupy  more  than  a  couple  of  hours.  As  they  were 
to  be  home  for  lunch,  they  would  be  able  to  have  a  good 
rest  before  going  out  again.  And  they  pleaded  so  hard 
to  be  allowed  to  accept  their  invitation  that  even  Mrs. 
Ruthven  was  won  over  to  their  side.  So  Constance 
scribbled  her  address  for  them  on  the  back  of  one  of 
Hubert's  cards,  then,  with  a  cheery  smile  for  everybody, 
she  sailed  away. 

"Who  is  this  Miss  Powers?"  asked  Mrs.  Ruthven 
later,  when  the  children  had  gone  to  their  room. 

"  Why,  mother,"  laughed  Hubert ;  "  your  knowledge 
of  her  is  already  far  more  extensive  than  my  own,  since 
I  have  learnt  so  much  from  you  this  afternoon  that 
I  had  no  idea  of  before." 

"  Oh,  I  mean,  of  course,"  insisted  his  mother,  "  what 
is  she  doing  hereabouts  ?  " 

"  Enjoying  the  scenery,  I  suppose,"  said  Hubert,  who 
naturally  imagined  Constance  was  taking  a  short  rest, 
choosing  Yominster,  as  on  several  previous  occasions, 
for  the  facility  with  which  she  could  run  over  to  see  the 
children. 

He  turned  the  subject,  but  Mrs.  Ruthven  was  not 
quite  satisfied. 


II 

rHE  next  morning  Mrs.  Ruthven  kissed  Hubert 
good-bye  at  the  station  and  was  borne  off, 
leaving  him  to  whatever  fate  his  injudicious 
habit  of  life  might  bring  upon  him.      She 
was  getting  on  in  years,  she  mournfully  reflected,  and 
had  no  longer  the  strength  to  war  with  circumstances. 
Heaven  would  witness  that  she  had  done  her  best  to 
influence  him,  but  it  was  not  her  fault  that  she  had  been 
afflicted  with  a  son,  whose    obstinacy    could    only    be 
matched  by  the  crookedness  of  his  notions.     Thus  Mrs. 
Ruthven  beguiled  the  long  homeward  journey,  at  mo- 
ments barely  restraining  her  tears. 

Hubert  waited  at  the  station  till  the  children  came 
to  join  him  about  half-an-hour  later,  and  in  good  time 
for  the  London  train.  Their  first  rudely  dispelled  dream 
of  the  sea-side  had  since  been  realized  more  than  once, 
but  the  present  variation  of  the  prospect  gave  it  an 
added  piquancy.  The  selection  of  Dieppe  for  their 
holiday  had  set  them  studying  the  map  of  France 
with  remarkable  zest,  and  they  had  often  gazed  at  that 
particular  dot  on  the  Northern  coast  with  its  name 
sprawling  out  into  the  sea,  wondering  what  the  sur- 
rounding yellow  piece  of  territory  would  be  like  in 
the  reality.  They  thought  of  it  all  day,  and  dreamt 
of  it  all  night,  and  the  excitement  of  the  coming  trip 
mingled  agreeably  with  the  pleasure  of  their  little  ex- 
pedition to  town.  They  were  through  with  their  shop- 
ping even  sooner  than  they  had  calculated,  and  they 
were  able  to  catch  an  earlier  train  back  to  Lynford — 
and  swifter  to  boot! — than  the  one  fixed  upon.  But 

162 


THE  WOOER  163 

this  was  an  advantage  which  neither  Hubert  nor  the 
children  appreciated,  for  all  three  were  remarkably 
hungry,  and  lunch  had  been  ordered  for  an  hour  later 
than  usual! 

As  Hubert  had  half  anticipated,  Constance  had 
written  to  him  anent  her  surprise-visit  as  soon  as  she 
had  got  back  to  Yominster.  She  explained  that  the 
company  with  which  she  was  touring  had  taken  that 
place  en  route  just  to  fill  in  their  time,  though  its  possi- 
bilities were  likely  to  be  exhausted  by  a  single  perform- 
ance. It  was  the  first  time  in  her  life  that  her  work 
had  taken  her  there,  and  she  had  been  looking  forward 
to  descending  on  him  unexpectedly.  But  now  she  was 
very  sorry  indeed  that  she  hadn't  warned  him  before- 
hand. Hubert,  however,  did  not  at  all  approve  of  the 
tone  of  her  letter,  which  somehow  implied  that  he  had 
reason  to  feel  ashamed  of  counting  her  among  his  ac- 
quaintances, and  that  she  felt  she  had  been  guilty  of 
something  unspeakable  in  having  obtruded  herself  on 
him  and  his  mother.  Though  she  said  she  did  not 
expect  to  see  him  again  this  time,  and  ended  by  wishing 
him  the  pleasantest  of  holidays,  he  resolved  that,  as  it 
was  necessary  for  him  to  administer  the  severest  of 
lectures,  he  would  run  over  to  Yominster  that  very 
evening  and  perhaps  call  on  her  at  the  theatre. 

In  the  afternoon  the  children  were  driven  off  to  pay 
their  visit,  and  were  brought  back  safely,  each  bearing 
a  little  gift  from  Constance — Gwenny  a  tiny  gold  watch, 
and  May  a  heart-shaped  brooch.  The  desire  to  thank 
her  for  her  thoughtf ulness  afforded  Hubert  an  additional 
pretext  for  his  meditated  excursion. 

So  after  dinner  he  strolled  through  the  darkness  to 
Yominster,  and  through  the  dead  outskirts  of  the  town 
into  the  central  square,  lighter,  warmer,  and  noisier, 
where  the  theatre  flared  its  appeal  at  the  stolid  slumbrous 
inhabitants.  The  performance  was  going  on.  He  in- 
terviewed the  man  at  the  box-office  who  directed  him 


164  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

down  a  side  alley  to  the  rear  of  the  building.  The 
second  act,  he  had  learnt,  was  just  about  to  finish,  so 
that  Constance  was  bound  to  be  free  for  a  few  minutes 
anyway.  The  curtain  fell  precisely  as  he  was  stumbling 
over  the  irregular  flagstones  of  the  long  alley,  lighted 
by  the  moon  alone.  He  found  a  stable-like  entry  at 
last,  and  passed  first  into  a  sort  of  yard,  smelling  of  hay 
and  horses,  then  through  a  small  doorway,  brushing 
past  a  shabby,  portly  gentleman  in  a  ruffled  silk  hat 
who  was  smoking  a  cigar  on  the  threshold.  Hubert 
found  himself  in  a  musty  sort  of  space,  crowded  with 
carpentering  devices  and  lighted  by  a  huge  naked  jet 
of  gas.  He  was  about  to  mount  a  rather  ladder-like 
stairway  that  rose  steeply  alongside  the  lime-washed  wall, 
when  he  became  aware  that  the  portly  gentleman  was 
coming  after  him,  so  he  turned  to  meet  the  challenge 
(delivered  just  then  with  rude  emphasis)  of  this  "  man- 
ager behind,"  glad  of  the  opportunity  of  getting  new 
directions  as  to  the  intricacies  amid  which  was  to  be 
found  Constance's  dressing-room.  In  a  moment  he  was 
pursuing  his  way  with  renewed  alacrity,  and,  after  losing 
himself  in  spite  of  all  instructions  and  almost  flounder- 
ing on  to  the  stage  itself,  he  at  last,  conscious  of  much 
dust  and  cobwebs,  turned  down  an  uninviting  corridor 
at  random  and  rapped  speculatively  at  a  primitive  black 
door. 

"  Is  that  you  ?  "  said  an  unfamiliar  feminine  voice. 
"  Come  in,  dear — how  are  you  now? — do  let  me  send 
the  dresser  for  something." 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Hubert,  "  but  where 
shall  I  find  Miss  Powers?" 

"  First  door  round  the  corner,"  called  the  feminine 
voice  with  affable  promptitude. 

"  Thanks,"  he  called  back.  But  presently  he  paused 
again — there  were  two  first  doors  round  the  corner.  The 
one  on  the  right  proved  to  be  the  owner  of  another 
feminine  voice,  equally  unfamiliar. 


THE  WOOER  165 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Hubert  again,  "  but 
where  shall  I  find  Miss  Powers?  " 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  returned  the  voice.  "  Just 
opposite ! " 

So  he  rapped  at  the  remaining  door  with  a  delightful 
sense  of  confidence.  He  heard  Constance  move,  then 
in  a  moment  the  door  opened  and  he  saw  her  face  light 
up  with  pleasure.  She  did  not  speak  at  once,  and  he 
noticed  she  was  catching  her  breath  excitedly.  He  stood 
smiling. 

"  And  is  this  a  special  visit  for  me — for  me  ?  "  she 
breathed  rapturously. 

"  A  brilliant  guess !  "  he  laughed.  "  You  were  so 
near,  and  I  did  not  like  the  idea  of  your  carrying  away 
the  mournful  memory  of  yesterday's  cup  of  tea.  You 
drank  it  heroically — a  full  hour  after  it  had  been 
scalded ! " 

She  bade  him  enter  the  tiny  lime-washed  room,  bare 
of  everything  save  the  necessaries  of  making-up  and 
a  couple  of  broken  chairs.  A  rickety  rusty  gas-bracket 
supplied  the  illumination. 

"  But  fancy  coming  all  this  distance  when  I've  only 
five  minutes  free  at  most !  "  she  exclaimed,  offering  him 
one  of  the  chairs  with  the  parenthetical  assurance  that 
it  wasn't  as  decrepit  as  it  looked.  "  Indeed,  I  shan't 
have  another  moment  now  till  the  end  of  the  next  act, 
when  my  work  finishes  for  the  evening." 

"  I  took  my  chance,"  he  explained.  "  It  would  have 
been  well  worth  taking,  if  only  for  five  minutes  reward 
at  the  end." 

She  blushed,  and  thanked  him  for  the  compliment. 
Except  for  a  touch  or  two,  she  was  ready  to  go  on  just 
as  she  stood.  She  was  a  wicked  young  countess — a 
sham  one — and  in  chic  bonnet  and  smart  Parisian  jacket 
was  just  off  to  Marble  Arch  to  keep  her  rendezvous  with 
a  millionaire  banker  whom  she  had  utterly  fascinated, 
and  whom  she  was  now  certain  of  coaxing  into  marrying 


166  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

her.  But  the  heroine,  his  daughter,  duly  coached  and 
supplied  with  documents  by  the  hero,  was  to  meet  her 
instead  and  call  upon  her  to  choose  between  exposure 
and  leaving  the  country  of  her  own  accord.  She  ex- 
plained to  him  this  destiny  of  hers  with  a  gay  abandon- 
ment of  spirit  that  he  found  charming. 

"  You  are  wondering  why  I  seem  so  happy  to-day," 
she  said  suddenly.  "  But  I  am  so  easily  made  happy — 
by  the  right  things." 

"  Ah,  the  right  things !  They  are  usually  very  shy. 
But  you  seem  to  have  wooed  them  successfully." 

She  laughed  with  girlish  merriment.  "  I  am  all  in  a 
glow!  Cannot  you  guess  it  was  the  pleasure  of  having 
the  children  with  me  to-day.  I  can't  thank  you  enough 
for  letting  them  come — they  are  such  sweet  things  and 
with  such  characters  of  their  own,  too.  And  what  an 
enormous  amount  May  has  to  say,  and  she  does  love 
saying  it ! " 

"  And  you  loved  listening  to  her." 

"  For  all  too  short  a  time,"  she  half-sighed.  "  Gwenny, 
too,  is  a  picture.  She  is  so  deliciously  grave.  She  sang 
to  me  a  little  with  the  daintiest  of  voices.  And  then, 
hey  presto !  the  two  little  princesses  were  whisked  away, 
and  I  was  left  rubbing  my  eyes — as  I  shall  be  again 
presently." 

"  Which  reminds  me  that  I  came  with  the  idea  of  ad- 
ministering a  lecture,  but  that  had  perhaps  better  be 
postponed  till  I  can  administer  it  properly." 

"  A  lecture !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  How  delightful ! — a 
pity  I  have  to  be  going  on  in  a  moment."  She  began 
to  busy  herself  before  the  mirror. 

"  Is  that  a  dismissal  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  please  don't  put  it  that  way.  A  friendly  good- 
night, let  us  call  it." 

"  But  may  I  not  wait  for  you  ?  "  he  suggested.  "  You 
say  you  will  be  free  after  this  act,  it  will  not  be  later 


THE  WOOER  167 

than  ten  o'clock,  and  then  the  lecture  might  have  a 
chance." 

She  willingly  fell  in  with  the  idea,  adding  that  per- 
haps he  might  join  her  at  her  supper — a  salad  and  a 
bottle  of  claret.  But  she  did  not  care  to  ask  him  to 
wait  in  such  a  stuffy  little  den,  suggesting,  instead,  he 
might  perhaps  witness  the  act  from  the  front  of  the 
house.  The  idea  amused  him  for  a  moment,  but  some- 
how he  felt  he  wanted  to  think,  so  he  said  he  preferred 
to  take  a  turn  through  the  streets  in  the  interim. 

Then  with  a  gay  au  revoir  he  stumbled  down  the 
primitive  stairway,  across  the  dim  stable-yard,  and  back 
again  through  the  long,  dark  alley,  only  realizing  he 
had  traversed  them  as  he  emerged  into  the  warmer  fight 
of  the  square.  There  were  groups  of  people  dotted 
about  it,  young  lads  loafing  in  the  evening  air,  and 
men  and  women  gossiping  amid  the  smoke  and  odour  of 
clay  pipes.  They  looked  at  him  as  he  strolled  past,  and 
wondered  vaguely  why.  Then,  as  he  turned  a  corner, 
where  a  public-house  with  nickel  reflectors  cast  a  beery 
glare  across  a  narrow,  crooked  street,  his  thoughts  went 
sharply  back  to  his  own  concerns. 

No  sensational  events  had  broken  the  flow  of  these 
last  years.  In  his  profession  he  had  prospered  con- 
tinuously, but  he  had  been  kept  to  his  work  pretty 
closely  and  had  had  time  for  few  pleasures — as  men 
reckon  pleasures.  Odd  hours  of  book-hunting  when  he 
could  spare  them  in  town,  a  further  hour  or  two  amid 
his  tomes  at  night,  and  a  regular  constitutional  or 
canter,  exhausted  all  the  diversion  he  claimed  for  himself. 
He  still  continued  to  plan  out  ambitious  works  and  to 
make  many  notes  for  them,  but  his  scholarship  and  his 
tenets  had  found  no  further  expression  in  print. 

Though  he  was  now  on  nodding  terms  with  many  of 
his  neighbours  (  for  his  figure  had  come  to  be  well  known 
to  everybody)  and  had  even  taken  part  in  one  or  two 


168  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

matters  of  public  moment,  he  had  not  otherwise  joined 
in  the  life  of  the  district.  Nevertheless,  people  liked 
him  immensely,  and  he  had  no  idea  of  the  respect  and 
estimation  in  which  he  was  held.  As  to  the  comparative 
seclusion  in  which  he  lived,  that  was  ultimately  accepted 
on  the  ground  that  a  man  addicted  to  much  study  could 
not  be  expected  to  take  kindly  to  the  usual  round  of 
visiting.  He  was,  however,  always  ready  to  exchange  a 
cordial  word  with  the  larger  and  smaller  gentry,  as  well 
as  with  the  tradespeople  and  the  folk  about  the  country- 
side, invariably  amused  at  the  sharpness  with  which  the 
population  fell  into  these  divisions. 

But  in  himself  he  was  conscious  of  having  changed  to 
a  certain  extent.  His  manner  had  stiffened  a  little;  he 
had  a  tendency  to  be  a  trifle  formal  even  with  intimates. 
And  at  the  same  time  his  habit  of  reserve  had  grown 
upon  him.  All  of  which  was,  perhaps,  due  to  the  break- 
up of  his  own  particular  little  group  of  associates,  what 
with  Preston  away  and  Marvin  married  and  himself 
more  or  less  out  of  touch  with  various  other  men  with 
whom  he  had  occasionally  been  wont  to  foregather. 

As  to  Preston,  he  did  not  know  even  approximately 
in  what  region  that  adventurer  was  rolling  about  just 
then,  nor,  apparently,  did  anybody  else.  It  was  almost 
a  year  since  Hubert  had  last  heard  from  him.  But  that 
counted  for  nothing.  For  few,  indeed,  were  the  letters 
that  Hubert  himself  had  troubled  sister  Marian  to  for- 
ward. The  serenity  of  his  own  existence  offered  little 
for  chronicling;  and,  even  had  Preston  omitted  to  give 
fair  warning  beforehand,  Hubert  would  have  sym- 
pathized with  his  neglect  of  correspondence. 

Nor  had  his  friendship  with  Lady  Wycliffe  languished 
and  withered  away,  though  there  were  necessarily  long 
intervals  between  their  meetings,  which  generally  took 
place  at  her  own  house.  But  intimate  as  this  friendship 
was  in  one  sense,  in  form  at  least  it  was  characterized 
by  a  marked  degree  of  stateliness,  almost  of  ceremonious- 


THE  WOOER  169 

ness,  which  was  suited  to  a  certain  aspect  of  both  their 
characters.  It  was  in  fine  a  little  too  lofty  and  spiritual 
for  the  needs  of  e very-day  life,  and  afforded  no  corrective 
for  Hubert's  present  tendencies. 

But  with  Constance  Powers  he  was  on  quite  a  different 
footing.  Ever  since  the  time  of  her  great  trouble  his 
influence  over  her  had  been  complete.  She  looked  up 
to  him  with  a  naive  trust  that  touched  him,  and  she  would 
have  obeyed  his  least  suggestion  unquestioningly.  And 
yet,  despite  this  self-effacement  before  his  superior 
strength  and  wisdom,  she  managed  to  retain  over  him 
an  ascendency  of  her  own.  She  was  mistress  of  his  at- 
tention, knew  that,  at  her  bidding,  all  else  would  be 
set  aside,  and  that  her  concerns  would  immediately  be  his. 

Ever  since  he  had  hastened  to  the  rescue  on  that  dark 
winter  day,  he  had  assumed  a  sort  of  responsibility  for 
her  well-being  which  had  at  length  become  an  emotional 
pleasure.  Even  after  the  reduction  of  her  financial  diffi- 
culties, she  had  been  fated  to  sustain  the  worst  shock  of 
all.  Her  child  had  been  born  dead  and  many  months 
had  gone  by  before  she  had  been  sufficiently  convalescent 
to  take  up  her  profession  again.  But  he  had  taken  care 
never  really  to  lose  touch  with  her — though,  of  course, 
he  could  not  help  losing  sight  of  her  most  of  the  time. 
And  he  had  ample  reason  to  congratulate  himself  on  the 
result  of  his  influence;  for  had  she  not  admitted  again 
and  again  that  she  now  found  life  well  worth  living! 

Three  whole  years  of  such  association  had  thrust  back 
to  infinity  the  time  when  they  had  not  known  each  other 
at  all,  even  the  period  of  their  first  casual  acquaintance- 
ship. He  was  aware  that  she  had  entered  deeply  into 
his  consciousness,  that,  in  fact,  she  was  the  only  woman 
in  the  world  whose  life  was  a  vivid  reality  to  him, 
whereas  all  other  women  seemed  to  have  receded  so  far 
from  him  that  they  were  scarcely  more  than  a  multitude 
of  shadows.  And  so,  thinking  frequently  of  late  over 
the  respective  positions  of  Constance  and  himself  amid 


170  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

their  fellow  creatures,  he  could  not  avoid  the  I3ea  of 
possible  closer  association  between  them. 

Unattached  to  any  social  clique,  he  felt  perfectly  free 
to  act  according  to  his  own  judgment  and  to  ignore  con- 
ventional criticism.  Even  apart  from  the  question  of 
choice,  there  were  the  strongest  reasons  why  he  should 
marry  now.  The  children  were  growing  up  rapidly  and 
he  felt  he  ought  not  to  undertake  any  longer  the  sole 
responsibility  for  them.  And  therefore,  having  to 
choose,  he  preferred  to  seize  the  opportunity  that  sug- 
gested itself  to  him  spontaneously. 

All  things  considered,  a  marriage  with  Constance 
seemed  to  have  much  to  recommend  it.  In  personality 
Constance  was  just  such  a  partner  as  he  might  long  have 
searched  for,  a  woman  of  heart  and  brain  between  whom 
and  himself  no  barriers  existed.  Of  course  the  affair 
would  be  a  somewhat  deliberate  one  on  both  sides,  he 
told  himself,  but  it  was  foolish  to  look  for  romance.  If 
his  feeling  towards  her  was  not  that  of  a  love-sick  school- 
boy, he  was  yet  conscious  of  having  been  touched  in 
some  deeper  way,  and  there  were  aspects  of  such  a  union 
that  might  well  vie  with  the  purely  romantic. 

They  respected  and  believed  in  each  other,  they  had 
each  suffered,  they  were  each  in  a  way  solitary.  It  was 
true  the  experiences  she  had  borne  had  been  of  a  more 
brutal  kind  than  his,  but  what  she  had  lost  thereby  in 
girlish  free  spirit  she  had  gained,  he  argued,  in  char- 
acter and  depth  of  feeling.  She  was  still  young,  and 
to  the  more  serious  and  admirable  side  of  womanhood 
she  brought  grace  and  freshness  enough  to  symbolize  its 
aesthetic  side.  Her  quick  delight  in  trifles,  the  touch  of 
rapture  and  fresh  enthusiasm  that  had  survived  all  her 
sorrows,  pleased  him  greatly,  and  he  was  already  con- 
scious as  of  a  new  brightness  in  his  home.  Above  all, 
not  only  were  the  children  attached  to  her,  but  she  in 
return  displayed  an  affection  for  them  not  inferior  to 
his  own. 


THE  WOOER  171 

The  Idea  had  been  in  his  mind  for  some  time  now. 
She  suited  him  absolutely,  and  he  would  not  allow  that 
one  essential  fact  to  be  obscured  by  considerations  in 
which  he  knew  only  too  well  the  average  person  would 
have  indulged.  She  no  fit  wife  for  him  because  she 
had  been  so  cruelly  imposed  upon !  The  thought  of 
what  she  had  endured  roused  all  the  chivalry  in  him, 
and  his  heart  went  out  to  her  in  infinite  pity.  It  seemed 
as  if  no  tenderness  could  atone  for  her  past  suffering ! 

If  Constance  would  consent  to  join  her  life  with  his, 
he  felt  there  would  be  every  prospect  of  happiness  in 
the  union. 


m 

Aj S  Hubert  was  about  to  rap  again,  the  door  of 
ZJ  the  dressing-room  flew  wide  open  and  Con- 
^4  M.  stance  stood  before  him  smiling  and  merry. 
She  was  ready  dressed  to  go  home,  so  they 
started  off  immediately.  Once  they  had  cleared  the 
square,  she  led  the  way  briskly  through  the  silent  old 
streets,  talking  gaily  the  while  and  unaffectedly  de- 
lighted at  this  unhoped-for  companionship. 

She  turned  at  last  down  a  narrow  lane  paved  with 
cobble-stones,  and  stopped  before  a  little  gabled  house, 
with  a  quaint  bay  window  that  projected  overhead  from 
its  upper  story.  The  door  opened  with  a  latch,  and 
they  passed  along  the  corridor  into  a  little  sitting-room, 
stuffy  with  the  smell  of  the  lamp  which  was  burning 
badly.  The  table  was  ready  set  out  for  her  supper,  and 
the  salad  of  which  she  had  spoken  lay  conspicuously  in 
a  dish  of  water.  The  landlady  appeared  just  then  and 
Constance  bade  her  put  another  cover.  She  was  a  curious 
woman,  thick-set,  with  strange,  dark,  heavy  features, 
brilliant  black-eyes,  and  jet-black  hair  hanging  in  curls. 
Her  ears  were  weighted  down  with  large  gold  rings. 
The  daughter  of  some  ancient  corsair,  one  might  have 
imagined;  and  Hubert  was  pleased  with  her  as  an  inci- 
dent in  the  evening's  little  adventure. 

"  I  must  proceed  now  with  the  task  of  drying  the 
salad,"  said  Constance  when  they  were  alone  again. 
"  Drying  salads,  in  fact,  seems,  at  least  to  me,  to  be 
part  of  the  professional  life.  .  .  .  Strictly  speaking," 
she  resumed,  as  she  drained  off  the  water  from  the  dish 
into  the  nearest  flower-pot ;  "  my  account  of  the  menu 
was  not  quite  accurate.  In  addition  to  this  salad  a  la 

172 


THE  WOOER  173 

bath  there's  a  cold  chump  chop,  and  a  big  tomato — both 
to  be  scrupulously  halved  between  us — and  finally  there 
are  pears  and  black  coffee." 

"  A  very  charming  menu,"  was  his  comment ;  "  but  I 
dined  late,  and  you — are  dining  later." 

"  Oh,  please  don't  spoil  my  evening,"  she  protested, 
busily  separating  the  crisp  leaves  of  the  salad.  "  You 
accept  my  invitation  and  then  rule  out  all  the  fun." 

"  The  coffee — and  the  salad,  of  course, — I  have  al- 
ready accepted.  The  chump  chop  and  the  big  tomato 
were  not  in  the  bargain,  and,  seriously — you  are  a  goose. 
You  are  to  consume  both  halves — scrupulously  !  " 

"  Ought  I  ?  "  she  asked  doubtfully,  as  if  in  perplexity 
over  the  most  important  of  issues. 

It  was  a  touch  of  unconscious  coquetry,  and  he  al- 
lowed himself  to  be  charmed  by  it. 

So  she  ate  her  supper,  whilst  he  administered  the 
lecture  postponed  from  before,  and  called  upon  her 
severely  to  explain  how  she  had  come  fe>  write  to 
him  in  that  self-depreciatory  fashion. 

The  light  died  out  of  her  face,  and  he  saw  she  was 
taking  him  very  seriously.  "  I  wrote  as  J  felt,"  she  said 
simply. 

However,  he  continued  his  protest.  Her  absurd  atti- 
tude only  showed  that  she  did  not  really  believe  in  the 
absoluteness  of  his  friendship;  she  had  certainly  hurt 
him  by  her  implication  that  it  was  a  thing  he  might 
well  be  ashamed  of. 

"  I  was  imagining  your  lecture  was  going  to  be  all 
fun,"  she  complained  almost  tearfully.  "  I  did  not 
expect  any  seriousness  this  evening — I  wanted  us  both 
just  to  be  happy  and  light-hearted.  It  does  one  so 
much  good  to  laugh  sometimes,  and,  as  a  rule,  there  isn't 
very  much  to  be  merry  about  when  one  is  alone — as  I 
always  am.  But  since  you  are  bent  on  chopping  logic 
and  getting  me  into  a  corner,  I  am  going  to  turn  at 
bay  at  once.  Well  then,  I  did  not  wish  to  imply  that 


174  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  knowing  me,  but  rather 
that  I  ought  not  to  take  advantage  of  the  fact  that  you 
were  not — since,  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  we  are  scarcely 
on  an  equality." 

"  You  are  extremely  subtle,"  he  exclaimed. 

"  I  am  only  trying  to  express  my  exact  feeling  at 
the  time  I  wrote." 

"  Oh,  I'm  sorry  I  misunderstood,"  said  Hubert, 
amused  at  her  bristling  resistance  against  his  attack. 
"  Really,  I  don't  think  I  can  resist  half  the  chump  chop 
after  all !  "  he  added  laughingly. 

She  caught  up  the  note  at  once,  joining  in  the  laugh 
as  merrily  as  ever.  "  Too  late !  " 

"  So  typical  of  life,"  he  sighed  with  mock  doleful- 
ness.  "  The  irony  of  things  pursues  us  even  here." 

"  The  irony  of  things !  I  don't  mind  that,  so  long  as 
it  takes  no  worse  form  thru  my  gobbling  up  your 
share." 

"  Naturally !     You  can  afford  to  laugh  at  that." 

"  Oh,  well,  I  have  laughed  when  it  has  taken  worse 
forms — and  they  were  very  much  worse  in  the  days 
when  I  was  still  yearning  for  a  fortune." 

"  I  remember.  I  was  the  confidant  of  your  sorrows 
even  in  those  early  days.  I  must  admit  you  used  to 
treat  fate  with  dreadful  levity." 

"  That  is  to  say :  when  I  couldn't  get  things  to  smile 
at  me,  I  used  to  find  consolation  in  smiling  at  them." 

"  An  admirable  philosophy !  " 

"  It  is  said,"  she  went  on,  "  that  fools  may  make 
fortunes  but  that  only  wise  people  can  keep  them. 
From  my  own  experiences  I  am  inclined  to  count  myself 
— illogically,  of  course — among  the  wisest  of  the  wise." 

"  Ah,  you  are  still  yearning  for  your  fortune ! " 

"  Whatever  the  gods  send  me  I  am  satisfied  with.  All 
the  same  a  fortune  would  be  an  ecstasy." 

"You'd  run  a  theatre?" 

"  No,  I  would  run  away  from  it.    I  have  had  enough 


THE  WOOER  175 

of  theatres,  and  I  long  since  discovered  I  am  not  a  genius. 
I  went  on  the  stage,  mainly  because  I  wished  for  a  life 
of  my  own,  but  I  confess  I  was  conceited  and  had 
the  silliest  inflated  notions  of  what  I  was  likely  to  do. 
It  makes  me  shudder  to  think  what  an  insufferable  little 
brute  I  must  have  been!  Of  course  there  is  nothing 
else  for  me  now  but  to  struggle  on  in  the  profession.  I 
am  wedded  to  the  foot-lights,  and  so  must  tolerate  them 
cheerfully,  even  though  my  first  ardent  affection  has 
entirely  evaporated.  .  .  .  And  now  I  must  measure 
out  the  coffee,"  she  laughed,  jumping  up  from  the  table. 
"  You  see,"  she  explained ;  "  I  carry  my  precious  stores 
about  with  me  in  my  trunks,  and  dole  them  out  as 
needed.  Please  to  pull  that  bell." 

When  the  landlady  had  finally  served  the  coffee  and 
retired  again,  Hubert  thought  he  might  as  well  seize 
the  opportunity  and  broach  his  big  idea.  It  would  be 
nice  to  have  the  matter  settled  before  taking  the  chil- 
dren on  their  holiday.  But  he  was  surprised  to  find  it 
wasn't  so  easy  to  begin  as  he  had  supposed.  Many  in- 
troductory sentences,  all  equally  good,  occurred  to  him 
with  an  unfortunate  simultaneity,  so  that  they  got 
tangled  together  and  stuck  in  his  throat.  This  rather 
annoyed  him.  He  coughed  frowingly. 

"  Isn't  my  coffee  good?  "  she  inquired  anxiously. 

"  It's  first  rate,"  he  assured  her ;  "  only  I  feel  as  if 
some  had  gone  down  the  wrong  way." 

"  It's  a  miracle  it  wasn't  spoiled.  Landladies  gen- 
erally manage  to  give  it  a  fishy  flavour." 

"  By  way  of  slipping  in  a  suggestion  of  an  extra 
course?  " 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  my  frugality  does  invite  sarcasm. 
Look  how  soon  we  have  arrived  at  this  advanced  item 
of  the  menu." 

He  glanced  at  his  watch.  "  Not  so  very  soon,"  he 
exclaimed  in  genuine  surprise.  "  Time  has  been  in- 
dulging in  his  usual  vice." 


176  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

"  You  will  be  returning  on  foot  ?  " 

"  Through  the  darkness.  I  like  it.  It  stimulates  my 
imagination.  But  I  must  not  go  without  saying  what 
I  came  specially  to  say." 

"  More  lecture !  "  She  made  a  wry  face.  "  I  thought 
you  had  forgotten  all  about  that  by  now  and  wouldn't 
finish.  Because  your  lecture  to-night  was  not  as  en- 
tertaining as  usual." 

"  The  lecture  was  only  incidental.  I  hope  the  main 
thing  will  prove  less  disagreeable  to  you  than  the 
expression  on  your  face  seems  to  angur."  He  sipped 
his  coffee  again,  and  leaned  forward  with  one  elbow  on 
the  table.  "  The  expression  changes  visibly,"  he 
laughed.  <k  Now  it  is  one  of  intense  expectancy,  and  al- 
together not  unencouraging.  Well,  then,  I  wish  to 
express  an  opinion  and  a  preference." 

"  An  opinion  and  a  preference !  "  she  echoed. 

"  Now  the  expression  is  one  of  mystification." 

"  Egotistic  mystification,"  she  corrected ;  "  for  I  am 
assuming  that  they  concern  me  personally. 

"  To  a  large  extent.  Since  you  always  permit  me  to 
talk  freely  of  your  intimate  affairs — the  opinion  is  that 
you  ought  to  give  up  the  stage  and  marry ! " 

"  Excellent  idea,"  she  admitted ;  "  but — well,  you 
forget  I  am  not  exactly  a  marriageable  person." 

"  A  morbid  notion — inconceivably  perverse !  The 
sooner  you  awake  to  the  sense  of  your  proper  worth, 
the  better.  Why,  my  preference  is  that  you  should 
do  me  the  honour  of  choosing  me  as  your  hus- 
band." 

She  looked  at  him,  first  white  and  then  suddenly  deep 
red.  She  was  trembling  visibly. 

"  This  is  worse  than  folly !  "  she  exclaimed  gaspingly. 
"  It  is  downright  insanity." 

"  You  are  hard  on  me,"  he  suggested. 

"  Not  harder  than  you  deserve." 

"  But  why  this  sudden  aspersion  of  my  intelligence? 


THE  WOOER  177 

Isn't  it  rather  a  violent  change  from  your  usual  atti- 
tude? " 

"  You  have  been  so  much  my  friend,"  she  replied  more 
gently,  "  that  I  wish  to  be  your  friend  now.  For  your 
own  sake,  I  cannot  permit  you  to  perpetrate  anything 
so  utterly  ill-considered  as  to  marry  me.  Marry  me!  " 
She  broke  into  laughter  that  rang  with  scorn  and  bitter- 
ness. 

"  What  am  I  asking  you,"  he  protested,  "  but  to  help 
to  make  me  happier  than  I  have  ever  been  and  to  en- 
courage the  hope  that  I,  too,  may  try  to  smooth  things 
a  little  for  you?  I  want  to  make  up  to  you  for  all 
you  have  suffered." 

She  appeared  suddenly  to  be  stricken  with  remorse. 

"  Forgive  my  roughness,"  she  begged  almost  in  tears. 
"  It  makes  my  heart  bleed  to  give  you  the  slightest  pain. 
But  nothing  could  have  been  further  from  my  thoughts 
than  this  possibility.  You  have  known  me  so  many  years, 
and  I  have  always  looked  upon  you,  scarcely  as  a  man 
at  all,  but  rather  as  a  special  being,  valuing  it  as  a 
privilege  that  you  should  occasionally  come  out  of  your 
sphere  into  mine.  I  have  always  been  grateful  for  such 
crumbs  of  your  time  as  you  could  bestow  on  me — such 
moments  were  my  one  certainty  of  brightness  amid  my 
wretchedness.  I  used  to  tell  myself  that  I  was  saving 
you  up,  so  that,  when  you  did  appear,  I  might  draw  new 
life  and  courage  from  your  presence.  That  is  the  way 
I  always  thought  of  you,  but,  if  I  had  imagined  that 
this  friendship  was  likely  to  lead  to  any  such — such — 
wish  on  your  part  as  you  have  expressed  to-night,  I 
should  have  considered  it  my  duty  to  cut  it  short  un- 
flinchingly. But  it  has  gone  on  so  long,  and  I  thought 
it  was  absolutely  safe.  Now  I  fear  it  is  spoiled  for 
good  and  always." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind  that  at  all,"  he  returned,  with  a 
not  very  successful  attempt  at  cheerfulness,  "  so  long 
as  the  new  arrangement  takes  its  place." 


178  ONE'S  WOMEN  KIND 

"  But  since  that  cannot  be,  you  have  hit  me  hard — 
speaking,  that  is,  from  my  own  selfish  point  of  view. 
.  .  .  Which  sounds  very  terrible,"  she  added  quickly. 
"  But  when  one  uses  metaphors,  reproaches  and  accusa- 
tions seem  to  come  up  unintentionally." 

"  Come  now,"  he  urged,  seeing  her  first  excitement 
had  spent  itself ;  "  why  should  we  not  both  be  perfectly 
reasonable?  We  are  two  sensible  people,  possessed  of 
excellent  understandings,  very  good  friends  moreover, 
and  a  certain  question  arises  between  us  affecting  the 
lives  of  us  both.  Well,  why  should  we  not  tackle  it,  and 
see  what,  with  mutual  good-will  and  in  all  sincerity,  we 
can  make  of  it.  Let  me  begin  by  speaking  for  myself. 
That  I  should  now  wish  to  marry  ought  not  to  surprise 
you.  I  have  been  settled  with  the  children  for  some 
time  now,  and,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  though  I  am 
perilously  near  forty,  I  am  sufficiently  prosperous  not  to 
feel  any  real  anxiety  about  the  future.  I  have  a  fine 
practice  now,  and  I  shall  do  even  better.  But  there  were 
many  long  years  of  depression  and  useless  effort,  which 
have  certainly  left  their  mark  on  me.  After  my  happy 
experience  with  the  children,  I  have  at  last  come  to 
believe  that  there  is  nothing  better  in  life  than  to  follow 
out  the  common  human  destiny.  I  am  selfish  enough  to 
wish  to  make  my  life  complete,  and  therefore  marriage 
is  the  one  outlook  for  me.  That  being  so,  it  seems  to 
me  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world  that  I  should 
wish  to  marry  you." 

"  Believe  me,  I  appreciate  the  compliment,"  she  re- 
turned without  a  moment's  hesitation ;  "  but  please  re- 
member all  I  have  already  said.  You  must  admit  you 
have  entirely  ignored  it,  yet  it  still  holds  good  as  a 
reply  to  all  you  have  just  been  saying.  But,  over  and 
above  all,  let  me  advise  you  as  a  friend  who  has  your 
ultimate  happiness  at  heart,  and  who  just  now  is  the 
more  clear-headed  of  the  two  (as  you  were  when  my 
affairs  were  in  question),  let  me  even  implore  you  to 


THE  WOOER  179 

find  a  wife  in  a  suitable  station  of  life — a  woman  who 
will  do  credit  to  you  and  your  position." 

"  And  when  precisely  I  seek  to  follow  this  advice  you 
refuse  to  help  me ! " 

"  No  more  compliments,  please,  but,  as  you  just  now 
suggested,  let  us  be  perfectly  reasonable.  I  quite  agree 
that  you  should  marry,  and  no  one  will  rejoice  more 
than  I  in  your  happiness.  Now  just  consider,  cannot 
you  put  me  out  of  the  question  altogether?  Ideas  are, 
of  course,  obstinate,  but  I  am  sure  that,  with  a  little 
effort,  you  will  be  able  to  get  rid  of  the  one  that  is 
bothering  you  or  rather  both  of  us.  Then  you'll  be  able 
to  do  justice  to  the  needs  of  the  case.  You  know,  really, 
you  aren't  a  bit  in  love  with  me !  " 

"  Oh,  you  know  I  have  a  great  affection  for  you,"  he 
assured  her,  staring  hard  into  his  coffee-cup.  Then, 
looking  up  and  meeting  her  gaze  square :  "  I  respect 
you  and  believe  in  you,  and  it  is  my  sincere  conviction 
that  our  union  would  be  as  successful  as  any  union 
possibly  could  be.  Of  course  I  have  left  marriage 
fairly  late,  as  people  usually  reckon,  and,  at  my  age  it 
is  naturally  a  more  deliberate  business  than,  say,  at 
twenty.  Why  should  I  not  be  frank  with  a  person  of 
such  good  sense  as  yourself?  You  doubtless  realize  that 
to  a  mature  man  love  is  not  the  same  airy  delightful 
emotion  as  it  is  to  sentimental  boyhood.  It  is  an  emo- 
tion, more  complex  in  many  ways  and  more  deeply 
rooted,  felt  moreover  in  relation  to  one's  whole  experi- 
ence of  life;  on  the  other  hand  it  is  certainly  less  im- 
pulsive, less  of  dreamland.  There  is  no  reason,  indeed, 
why  I  should  make  any  pretence  to  the  contrary — con- 
sidering the  terms  on  which  we  have  always  been.  We 
both  know  life,  and,  with  a  deep  regard  as  the  basis  of 
our  companionship,  we  may  safely  defy  disillusion." 

She  had  followed  him  eagerly,  but  she  had  now  re- 
gained control  of  herself,  and  her  expression  was  in- 
scrutable. She  was  ready  with  her  reply  at  once. 


180  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

"  Your  argument  is  all  on  my  side,"  she  declared 
with  a  calm  deliberateness,  as  if  she  were  conscious  of 
holding  victory  in  her  palm.  "  It  is  just  because  of  the 
maturity  of  your  sentiment  that  you  ought  to  find  it  the 
less  difficult  to  put  me  out  of  your  mind.  Your  ideas 
are  absolutely  first-rate,  but  only  try  to  let  them  centre 
round  some  nice  woman  who  is  really  suitable  (and  not 
so  merely  as  the  result  of  your  chivalrous  sentiment) — 
and  you  will,  perhaps,  be  surprised  how  well  they  will 
harmonize  with  the  new  centre.  You  see,  I  am  falling 
in  with  your  suggestion,  and  discussing  the  case  in  quite 
cold  blood,  giving  you  my  thoughts  as  they  occur  to 
me." 

"  There  is  no  other  woman  for  me,"  he  persisted.  "  I 
cannot  marry  somebody  of  whom  I  know  nothing,  or 
whom  I  know  with  a  mere  false  superficiality.  I  should 
have  to  begin  to  search  all  over  again,  and,  in  any  case, 
to  take  all  sorts  of  risks.  Then,  as  you  know,  I  detest 
frequenting  the  usual  conventionally  ordered  circles, 
under  the  usual  conditions.  I  shrink  away  from  that  with 
a  shudder.  Life  has  brought  us  together.  I  say  we 
are  suited  to  each  other.  With  you  I  am  free  to  live 
a  noble,  simple  life !  " 

"  Perhaps  you  are  unjust  to  the  conventionally  ordered 
circles,"  she  suggested.  "  They  are  open  to  you,  and — 
there  are  good  women  everywhere." 

"  Ah — good  women  are  not  exactly  labelled,"  he  ex- 
claimed. "  Besides,  my  personal  ideal  is  the  good  woman 
who  is  her  own  mistress  and  who  knows  and  has  faced  the 
realities  of  life.  I  have  not  the  least  desire  to  get 
entangled  in  the  comfortably  ordered  web  in  which  your 
supposed  suitable  person  has  her  being — I  might  flounder 
about  a  good  deal  too  much  for  my  liking.  I  have,  some- 
how, never  felt  quite  easy  in  my  mind  that  things  are 
righteously  ordered  in  this  world,  and,  in  the  nice  soft 
warm  web,  there  is  so  much  smug  self-satisfaction  which 
one  comes  into  collision  with  the  moment  one  sets  foot 


THE  WOOER  181 

within  it.  ...  I  have  never  told  you,"  he  continued 
smilingly  after  an  almost  imperceptible  pause — they 
had  by  now  settled  down  on  an  easy  conversational  foot- 
ting — "  but  I  have  already  had  an  experience  of  it." 

She  looked  very  interested,  taking  up  the  hint  sharply. 

"  You  once  had  a  disappointment !  " 

"  Well,  naturally,"  he  smiled ;  "  one  doesn't  live  to 
my  age  without  passing  through  the  various  stages  or- 
dained to  the  species.  Even  if  I  were  silent  on  the 
point,  you  would,  of  course,  take  some  such  thing  for 
granted,  but  there  is  no  reason  why  I  should  be  silent. 
Yes,  I  did  not  get  through  my  youth  without  falling  in 
love — head  over  heels,  madly !  She  was  a  daughter  of 
the  Philistines,  a  graceful  creature  with  large  blue  eyes, 
and  wonderful  hair,  and  soft  shimmering  dresses.  I  see 
now  that  the  atmosphere  in  which  she  lived  would  have 
stifled  me,  and  that  my  punishment  was  a  blessing  in 
disguise.  She  was  not  rich,  but  she  had  lived  in  the  con- 
ventional and  correct  luxury.  My  own  prospects  at 
the  time  were  none  of  the  brightest  but  I  was  too  im- 
pulsive to  conquer  the  infatuation,  though  it  does  seem 
absurd  now  to  think  that  I  should  have  got  as  much 
suffering  out  of  the  affair  as  out  of  the  deepest  sorrows 
of  my  life." 

"  And  how  did  it  all  end  ?  "  asked  Constance  breath- 
lessly. 

"  At  first  the  girl  herself  was  distinctly  more  than 
friendly,  always  soft  and  fair  and  smiling !  Those  were 
my  dancing  days,  and  I  used  to  meet  her  quite  fre- 
quently. However,  since  in  the  conventionally  regu- 
lated web,  all  wooing  is  virtually  carried  on  in  public, 
her  family  got  to  know  of  the  danger,  and  then — hey, 
presto! — with  a  prestidigitator's  address,  she  became 
cold  as  marble.  How  vividly  I  remember  it  all!  But  I 
had  lost  my  head  and  would  not  give  up.  I  insisted  on 
an  appointment,  which  she  evaded,  and  I  found  her 
father  instead — a  Philistine  through  and  through. 


182  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

Socially  I  was  beneath  them,  and  my  poverty  was  not 
in  my  favour.  I  don't  say  the  man  wasn't  right  enough 
in  some  ways,  but  the  family  had  ambitions,  was  looking 
socially  upwards,  and  the  girl,  on  account  of  her  beauty, 
was  being  reserved  for  a  higher  possibility — I  had  almost 
said  for  a  higher  bidder.  Anyway,  the  man  was  need- 
lessly insolent.  I  suffered  terribly  for  months  after- 
wards." 

"  Poor  Hubert,"  said  Constance  softly.  There  were 
tears  in  her  eyes.  "  And  so  you  were  really  in  love 
then?" 

He  seemed  to  brood  a  moment,  as  if  to  recover  the 
long-lost  emotion.  She  watched  him  closely. 

"  Yes,  it  was  fine  and  full  of  poesie,"  he  said  slowly, 
with  absent  eyes.  "  To  think  of  it  .brings  back  the 
odour  of  violets." 

"  Poor  Hubert,"  she  breathed  again. 

He  got  up,  drew  a  long  breath,  and  made  a  stride 
or  two  about  the  little  room. 

"  But  the  memory  of  the  way  the  thing  ended  is  only 
humiliating !  "  he  presently  resumed  in  a  matter-of-fact 
tone.  There  was  the  nicker  of  a  smile  on  his  face,  which 
grew  and  grew  until  he  broke  into  laughter  alto- 
gether. 

"  It  seems  to  amuse  you  all  the  same,"  she  observed. 

"  You  perhaps  slightly  misunderstand  my  remark," 
he  explained.  "  What  humiliates  me  is  to  have  taken 
part  in  so  absolutely  commonplace  a  story.  Not  even  an 
elopement  and  pursuit,  only  a  bald,  blunt,  prosaic  re- 
jection." 

"  Still,  your  amusement  to-day  is  pure  gain." 

"  Yes,  but  how  am  I  to  apply  that  philosophy  of 
yours  to  my  rejection  now?" 

She  looked  distressed.  "  I  am  sorry,"  she  said ;  "  I 
wish  I  could  help  you." 

"  Ah — you  can  !  "  he  said  eagerly. 

"  Please — don't  insist  further.     You  hurt  me." 


THE  WOOER  183 

He  took  up  his  hat.  "  Well,  the  hours  are  flying  and 
I  must  not  stay." 

She  gave  him  her  hand  and  they  said  good-night. 

"  I  will  find  my  way  out,"  he  said  as  she  moved  to 
accompany  him.  Then,  turning  in  the  doorway — 

"  No  word  of  good  cheer  to  take  with  me  to  Dieppe?  " 
he  threw  out  on  the  last  chance. 

"  No,  Hubert,  I  refuse  you,"  she  said  gently. 

"  But  you  love  the  children.  If  you  cannot  come  for 
my  sake,  come  for  theirs." 

The  unexpectedness  of  the  shot  found  her  at  a  dis- 
advantage, but  she  recovered  herself  immediately. 

"  I  would  rather  never  see  them  again.  Please  under- 
stand I  refuse  you  absolutely." 

Her  words  were  steady  and  straight.  They  seemed 
to  sink  into  him  and  stir  him  in  some  way. 

"  We  shall  see,"  he  launched  back  defiantly. 


IV 

y^S  Hubert  walked  home  in  the  fine  summer  night 

ZJ       he  hummed  and  whistled  quite  blithely.     He 

^4   K         was  not  in  the  least  disconcerted  by  his  rebuff. 

Constance  was  going  to  marry  him — of  that 

he  felt  quite  certain. 

She  had  made  very  clear  her  ostensible  reason  for 
refusing  him;  but  it  would  be  most  unchivalrous,  even 
unmanly,  to  retire  before  an  opposition  based  on  such 
absurd  consideration — however  he  might  admire  her 
unselfish  regard  for  what  she  conceived  to  be  his  in- 
terests. Want  of  inclination  on  her  own  part  she  had 
not  alleged — much  less  any  positive  distaste  for  the  idea ; 
she  was  merely  convinced  she  would  be  doing  him  a  wrong 
by  entertaining  it. 

Well,  he  should  simply  insist  on  an  immediate  en- 
gagement between  them,  and  refuse  to  argue  about  it. 
He  would  no  longer  put  it  as  a  request;  she  must 
submit  to  the  pressure  of  his  will.  All  further  resistance 
would  be  waste  of  force.  Ridiculous  that  she  should 
esteem  herself  so  meanly  as  a  marriageable  quantity ! 

Hubert,  in  fact,  began  to  consider  himself  as  good 
as  married.  And  he  meant  her  to  realize  that  she  was 
as  good  as  married.  However,  as  he  could  not  run 
after  her  till  his  return  from  Dieppe,  he  decided  for  the 
present  to  resort  to  a  bombardment  of  letters.  The 
sooner  she  understood  she  already  "was  an  indissoluble 
part  of  his  life,  the  sooner — she  could  supersede  Martha 
Chapman ! 

Fortunately  she  had  enclosed  in  her  last  letter  to  him 
a  note  of  the  itinerary  of  the  theatrical  company  with 
which  she  was  playing,  so  that,  as  soon  as  he  and  the 

184 


THE  WOOER  185 

children  were  settled  in  a  suitable  pension,  he  was  able 
to  begin  his  campaign  at  once.  And,  indeed,  he  set 
about  prosecuting  it  with  the  greatest  vigour,  taking  up 
his  pen  each  evening  after  the  children  had  retired. 
Dieppe,  and  the  delight  and  interest  of  the  girls  in  that 
ancient  port,  furnished  ample  material  for  his  epistles, 
each  of  which  included  a  minute  account  of  the  day's 
doings.  If  she  had  only  been  with  them,  how  perfect 
would  have  been  the  holiday !  Poor  Constance  was 
forced  to  write  frequently  in  return — it  would  have 
needed  superhuman  strength  to  let  his  letters  go  un- 
answered, even  had  there  not  been  constant  messages 
and  several  separate  letters  from  her  little  friends. 

Hubert  had  begun  by  informing  her  that  they  were 
going  to  marry  in  three  months'  time — which  would 
allow  her  a  full  month  of  preparation  after  the  end  of 
her  tour — and  every  now  and  again  he  repeated  the 
statement,  duly  modified  according  to  the  date.  He 
ignored  all  her  disclaimers  and  reproofs,  and  would  not 
pay  her  oft-reiterated  argument  the  compliment  of  even 
a  passing  reference.  He  planned  out  their  honeymoon 
— a  tour  through  the  south  of  Italy — and  the  life  they 
were  going  to  live  afterwards  with  such  vividness  of 
detail,  that  again  and  again  she  had  to  shut  her  dazzled 
eyes  against  it.  So  steeped  did  Constance's  mind  be- 
come in  Dieppe  (as  actuality)  and  in  the  paradise  he 
kept  setting  before  her  (as  phantasy),  that  her  own 
existence  grew  shadowy,  and  she  moved  through  her 
days  like  an  automaton.  This  unforeseen  campaign  be- 
wildered and  discomfited  her.  As  she  passed  from  town 
to  town  letters  followed  and  preceded  her  with  amazing 
profusion,  till  she  was  at  length  driven  to  appeal  for 
mercy.  But  Hubert  remained  merciless.  She  must  feel 
that  even  at  that  distance  his  arm  was  round  her,  and 
she  could  not  escape. 

In  the  meantime  he  had  no  doubt  he  was  gaining 
ground.  Her  resistance  grew  distressed — tearful — but 


186  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

he  would  not  relax  the  attack.  Nay,  the  month  at 
Dieppe  having  run  its  course,  Hubert  hastened  to  follow 
up  his  advantage  with  the  added  pressure  of  his  personal 
presence,  for  on  the  very  following  day  after  their  ar- 
rival home  he  went  off  again  and  intercepted  her  at 
Blackpool,  where  she  found  him  on  the  platform  await- 
ing her  train. 

She  was  startled  almost  out  of  her  wits,  but  she 
separated  quickly  from  her  companions,  who,  naturally 
assuming  this  was  a  purely  chance  meeting  with  an 
acquaintance,  went  off  their  respective  ways  without 
appearing  to  bestow  any  special  attention  on  Hubert. 

The  advance-agent  of  the  company,  had,  at  Con- 
stance's request,  already  retained  rooms  for  her  over  a 
tea-shop,  which  she  now  found  happened  to  be  quite 
close  by,  and  thither  she  invited  him  to  accompany  her. 
The  tea-shop  naturally  gave  her  an  opportunity  of 
being  hospitable,  though  she  tried  her  hardest  to  make 
him  feel  she  was  cross  with  him  for  coming. 

"  But  as  I  am  only  waiting  for  the  end  of  your  present 
engagement  to  claim  you  for  a  more  permanent  one,  you 
surely  didn't  suppose  that  I  could  do  without  seeing  you 
in  the  meanwhile." 

His  words  seemed  to  shake  her. 

"  You  are  becoming  positively  cruel,"  she  said  in  a 
tone  that  was  full  of  reproach.  "  I  wish  I  had  the 
strength  to  be  abrupt  with  you,  to  call  you  all  sorts  of 
horrible  names  you  don't  deserve,  to  go  to  any  length  of 
rudeness,  in  fact,  so  as  to  make  you  wish  never  to  see 
me  again.  But  how  can  I  forget  what  you  have  been 
for  me?  " 

"  Oh,  you  really  mustn't  think  of  breaking  with  me. 
The  children  would  begin  to  ask  what  had  become  of 
you,  and  then  I  should  be  in  a  nice  fix." 

She  smiled  in  spite  of  herself. 

"  I  only  wish  I  had  the  heart  to  break  with  you — fix 
or  no  fix!  As  it  is,  I  have  to  resist  as  best  I  can, 


THE  WOOER  187 

whereas  there  is  no  end  to  your  horrible  unscrupulous- 
ness.  Now  as  soon  as  you  have  finished  that  cup  of  tea, 
Hubert,  you  are  to  go  straight  back  home.  I  have  to 
work  to-night,  and,  as  I'm  mortally  weary  from  travel- 
ling all  day,  I  must  try  to  get  a  little  sleep  during  the 
next  couple  of  hours." 

"  I'm  going  to  stay  in  the  town,"  he  announced.  "  My 
appetite  for  holidays  has  been  whetted!  And  unless 
you  give  me  the  answer  I  want  I  shall  stop  at  every 
town  on  your  list.  If  you  wish  to  get  rid  of  me,  I  warn 
you  there's  only  one  way." 

As  he  foresaw,  his  victim  could  not  hold  out  much 
longer,  though  she  would  not  give  way  till  almost  her 
last  moment  at  Blackpool. 

The  company  was  giving  its  final  performance  in  the 
town,  and  was  to  be  off  by  an  early  train  in  the  morn- 
ing. Hubert  called  for  her  at  the  theatre,  and,  as  soon 
as  she  had  come  off  in  the  third  act,  he  took  her  for  a 
stroll  on  the  crowded  sea-front.  She  was  fearing  his 
threat  to  keep  up  with  the  tour,  and  begged  him 
piteously  to  abandon  the  idea.  Hard  as  adamant, 
he  was  only  willing  to  do  so  provided  she  capitu- 
lated. 

She  maintained  a  long  silence.  Were  she  not  so 
obviously  engaged  in  reflection,  he  might  have  fancied 
she  had  at  last  been  driven  to  meet  him  by  a  deliberate 
refusal  to  speak.  When  pinned  down  again  and  again, 
she  had  had  nothing  better  to  say  than  that  she  was 
honestly  of  opinion  he  ought  not  to  want  to  marry  her, 
and  he  had  so  often  reduced  her  to  reiteration  of  this 
one  argument  that  he  might  well  entertain  the  suspicion 
as  to  her  present  intention. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  ?  "  he  asked,  impatient  at 
her  prolonged  meditation. 

"  I  am  thinking  of  your  mother,"  she  answered,  though 
after  some  hesitation.  "  Forgive  me  for  mentioning  her, 
but  it  is  the  first  time  I  have  dared.  Would  she  approve 


188  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

of  me  as  your  affianced  wife?  No,  you  know  she  would 
not,  and  she  would  be  perfectly  right." 

"  We  are  told  in  '  Genesis  '  that  '  a  man  shall  leave  his 
father  and  his  mother,  and  shall  cleave  unto  his  wife.' 
Therefore  I  put  you  first." 

"  You  ought  not  to  choose  a  woman  who  has  already 
thrown  herself  away  upon  a  scamp — who  has  experi- 
enced so  much  of  the  gross  side  of  things.  For  you  a 
pure  lily  alone  is  fitting;  I  am  discoloured  and  faded. 
No,  no,  I  have  nothing  to  offer  you." 

"  You  do  yourself  wrong.  I  cannot  allow  even  you 
to  disparage  so  dear  a  friend  of  mine." 

"  Well,  it's  only  your  opinion  against  mine,  and  I 
stick  to  my  own." 

"  I  have  never  known  you  to  treat  mine  with  such 
outrageous  disrespect." 

"  But  here  a  woman  is  concerned — the  proverbial  case 
in  which  the  best  of  men  are  blind." 

"  Oh,  well,  let's  throw  opinions  over !  Won't  you  go 
by  feeling  ?  " 

"  Feeling !  "  she  echoed.  "  Ought  we  not  both  to  be 
perfectly  reasonable?  Are  we  not  two  sensible  people, 
possessed  of  excellent  understandings?  At  our  age,  you 
know,  things  are  different.  Maturity  mustn't  have  feel- 
ings of  that  kind;  it  has  its  reputation  for  good  sense 
to  maintain.  We  must  both  be  guided  by  cold  mental 
judgment,  and  mine  you  are  already  acquainted  with." 

"  If  that's  all  the  comfort  I'm  to  get  out  of  cold 
mental  judgment — well,  the  sooner  you  cease  to  value 
your  reputation  for  good  sense,  the  better.  As  not  the 
least  of  your  admirers,  I  shall  like  you  vastly  better 
without  it." 

"  I  throw  it  away  then — I've  only  a  blind  feeling.  I 
have  struggled  all  I  can,  Hubert.  I  worship  you ! " 

"  Dear  Constance,"  he  said  softly.  "  Now  you  are 
splendid !  "  The  sentiment  of  the  moment  was  fine  and 
absorbing  enough  to  take  him  forward  rapturously. 


THE  WOOER  189 

Perhaps  she  detected  something  lacking  in  his  voice, 
for  the  next  moment  she  said  almost  plaintively — 

"  But  I  do  wish  you  were  a  little  in  love  with  me, 
Hubert.  This  mature  business  is  not  very  inspiring." 

"  Confound  the  mature  business !  "  exclaimed  Hubert, 
with  emphasis.  "  We  are  going  to  make  a  big  thing  of 
our  love." 

She  nestled  closer  to  him.  His  enthusiasm  began  to 
seize  hold  of  her,  to  destroy  her  misgivings  that  she 
had  no  right  to  the  happiness  she  had  accepted,  and  that 
she  might  be  doing  him  a  grave  wrong.  X"et  her  doubts 
found  a  last  expression. 

"  You  mustn't  think  me  cold-blooded,  Hubert ;  but  I 
cannot  easily  rid  myself  of — the  honest  opinion  I've 
maintained  all  along.  Think  it  over  again,  please,  and 
remember  you  are  free  if  you  so  wish." 

"  And  now,  please,  let  that  be  the  end,  dear,"  he  said 
as  sternly  as  he  could. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  hurt  you,  dear,  so  you'll  forgive 
me.  My  words  were  at  least  sincerely  intended,  for  my 
conscience  is  far  from  easy,  and — oh!  the  happiness  is 
too  great  for  me  to  realize.  I  have  suffered  so  much, 
Hubert,  that  I  cannot  grasp  all  at  once." 

"  Look  forward,  dear !  Turn  your  back  to  the  past, 
and  then  plunge  full  in." 

"  In?  "  she  queried. 

"  In  the  sunshine,  the  joy  of  things.  We  both  sur- 
render ourselves  utterly  to  the  big  current ! " 

"  Your  strength  will  take  me  forward,  dear,"  she 
whispered.  "  I  love  it.  I  loved  it  when  it  surrounded 
me  and  held  me  prisoner.  And  it  is  nice  not  to  have 
to  be  so  sensible.  I  like  the  illusions  best." 

"  But  what  illusions  ?  Are  there  not  beautiful  realities 
now?" 

"  Ah,  Hubert,  you  forget  our  talks  together  in  the 
past — when  I  first  knew  you.  How  you  used  to  make 
me  face  truth  and  facts  on  the  strength  of  my  intelli- 


190  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

gence!  When  you  invoked  it  that  night  at  Yominster, 
I  had,  of  course,  to  look  sensible  and  live  up  to  the 
invocation.  But  I  wasn't  a  bit  equal  to  the  part.  The 
way  you  spoke  of  a  marriage  between  us,  and  the 
grounds  of  pure  reason  on  which  you  put  it  forward, 
were  a  horror  to  me.  And  do  you  know,  dear,"  she 
went  on,  her  voice  thrilling  him  with  its  half-laughing, 
half -caressing  intonation,  "  I  was  mortally  jealous  of 
that  fair,  soft,  shining  thing  of  seventeen  with  the 
shimmering  dresses." 

And,  in  truth,  she  was  still.  That  old  romance  to 
which  Hubert  had  confessed  rankled  in  her,  though  she 
knew  the  sentiment  was  blind  and  unjustifiable,  and  was 
thoroughly  ashamed  of  it!  And,  in  a  corner  of  her 
heart,  she  still  qjierished  her  ancient  grain  of  animosity 
against  Hubert  for  having  been  able  to  know  her  year 
after  year  without  manifesting  any  symptom  of  senti- 
mental admiration;  not  because  he  had  not  desired  to 
marry  her  earlier,  but  because  he  had  failed  to  pay 
her  so  agreeable  a  tribute. 


Book  IV 
The  Benedict 


/t  TALL,  sun-burnt  man  of  distinguished  bear- 
/J  ing  and  in  the  very  prime  of  life,  wearing 
^  M  an  easy-fitting  grey  suit  and  a  straw  hat, 

pushed  open  the  little  wooden  gate  in  the 
hedge  that  bounded  Mr.  Hutchings'  market-garden,  de- 
scended the  three  or  four  steps,  and  then  stood  irreso- 
lute. Mr.  Hutchings,  however,  appeared  just  then  in 
the  doorway  of  his  cottage,  and  the  visitor  explained 
that  he  was  in  search  of  a  very  young  lady,  by  name 
Miss  May  Ruthven,  who,  he  had  been  told,  was  most 
likely  to  be  found  there.  The  market-gardener  was  able 
to  inform  him  that  Miss  Ruthven  was  sketching  some- 
where alongside  the  brook  that  ran  at  the  bottom  of 
his  grounds,  and  civilly  offered  to  conduct  him  to  her, 
but  the  stranger  would  not  put  him  to  that  trouble,  and 
pursued  his  way  down  the  path  indicated. 

After  a  few  minutes  wandering  he  came  upon  the 
shallow,  weedy  stream  to  which  he  had  been  directed. 
The  whole  place  was  larger  than  he  had  expected,  and 
so  wild  at  this  point  that  it  was  difficult  to  remember 
this  was  the  mere  picturesque  fringe  of  high  cultivation. 
He  paused  for  a  moment  to  look  about  him,  then  began 
to  pick  his  way  along  a  mossy  footpath,  glancing  to 
right  and  left  for  such  likely  nooks  as  a  young  girl 
might  love  to  lie  hidden  in. 

He  had  gone  a  considerable  distance  before  a  gleam  of 
colour  that  caught  his  eye  between  some  foliage  told 
him  here  at  last  was  the  little  person  he  sought.  In- 
stinctively he  quickened  his  step,  and  came  upon  her 
seated  in  the  ancient  punt  that  lay,  as  it  had  lain  for 

193 


194  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

years,  alongside  the  dilapidated  landing-stage.  She  was 
busily  engaged  with  a  small  canvas  that  rested  on  her 
knee,  her  right  hand  manipulating  a  brush  jerkily,  whilst 
her  left,  holding  out  a  much-besmeared  palette,  seemed 
to  have  got  abstracted  and  to  be  having  deep  thoughts 
of  its  own.  So  much  absorbed  was  she  in  her  work  that 
the  visitor  stood  watching  her  for  a  minute  or  two 
without  her  becoming  aware  of  his  presence. 

He  had  scarcely  anticipated  the  sort  of  person  she 
turned  out  to  be — her  unexpected  completeness  aston- 
ished him.  She  might  in  fact  have  been  seventeen,  if 
she  hadn't  been  so  obviously  twelve.  Her  knitted  brow, 
her  look  of  intense  seriousness  and  preoccupation,  were 
highly  becoming  to  the  miniature  face,  with  its  clear 
yet  delicate  features,  fine  grey  eyes,  and  beautiful  silken 
hair  that  hung  in  a  flowing  mass  under  her  simple 
sailor's  hat. 

He  ventured  at  last  to  step  on  to  the  landing-stage 
and  overlook  her  canvas.  She  was  painting  a  bit  of  the 
high  bank  opposite,  gay  with  wild  flowers,  the  sunlit 
water  filling  the  foreground. 

The  creaking  of  the  rotten  boards  made  her  turn  and 
look  up.  Their  eyes  met,  and  he  saw  her  face  change 
immediately — it  became  calm,  dignified,  unapproach- 
able! 

He  bowed  her  a  good  afternoon,  without,  however, 
giving  any  sign  that  he  had  the  least  idea  who  she  was, 
and  he  went  on  to  express  the  hope  that  he  wasn't 
disturbing  her.  But  she  merely  gave  him  an  almost 
imperceptible  nod  and  continued  plying  her  brush. 
Evidently  she  wasn't  at  all  disposed  to  encourage  a 
conversation.  Indeed,  he  felt  most  distinctly  that  he 
was  expected  to  continue  his  ramble,  and  could  not  help 
admiring  the  easy,  self-possessed  fashion  in  which  she 
contrived  that  that  desirability  should  suggest  itself  to 
him. 

But,  so  far  from  budging,  he  came  a  shade  closer,  and 


THE  BENEDICT  195 

sedulously  kept  examining  the  sketch,  smiling  as  he 
divined  the  frown  which  he  could  not  see — her  face  being 
now  turned  away  from  him. 

"  Your  method  is  certainly  promising ! "  He  made 
the  pronouncement  in  a  tone  of  decided  patronage. 

The  frown  deepened.  His  appearance  had  impressed 
her,  but  she  did  not  at  all  approve  of  his  persistence. 

"  Is  it  ?  "  she  asked  with  an  indifferent  air  of  astonish- 
ment which  likewise  again  suggested  he  might  stroll  on 
further.  But,  with  an  affected  thickheadedness,  he  pre- 
ferred to  construe  her  monosyllables  as  a  literal  question 
instead  of  a  mere  expletive. 

He  set  about  criticizing  in  detail  and  with  evident 
interest — for  the  sketch  was  well-nigh  finished.  She 
soon  perceived  that  he  had  the  right  to  speak,  though 
she  would  just  as  well  have  done  without  his  comments, 
frank  to  the  verge  of  severity.  So  she  listened  coldly 
and  unwillingly  (at  first  she  had  indignantly  tried  hard 
not  to  hear  him  at  all),  even  while  she  was  forced  to 
admit  to  herself  that  his  remarks  were  quite  clever,  and 
his  voice  and  features  of  the  pleasantest. 

However,  she  let  him  finish  without  interrupting,  and 
then  thanked  him  gravely.  He  felt  it  was  Greek  against 
Greek,  and  was  hugely  amused. 

"  I  think  I  have  seen  you  before,"  he  launched. 

"  Oh,  I  daresay,"  she  returned  carelessly. 

"  In  fact  I  am  sure  of  it." 

"  It's  very  possible."  She  was  scrutinizing  her  work 
and  putting  in  touches. 

"  A  very  pretty  place  this !  " 

"  Very.  But  I  hope  I  haven't  interrupted  your 
walk."  * 

"  Oh,"  he  protested,  gravely  maintaining  his  pretence 
of  stupidity.  "  I  assure  you|  my  dear  young  lady, 
you've  not  interrupted  me  in  the  least.  On  the  contrary, 
it  has  been  a  great  pleasure  to  me  to  make  your  ac- 
quaintance." 


196  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  she  murmured,  not  without  a 
touch  of  impatience. 

"  Kind !  Not  at  all !  "  he  blurted.  "  It  is  you  who 
have  been  kind." 

"  Really !  "  she  exclaimed  sarcastically. 

"  You  listened  with  such  charming  patience  to  all  the 
savage  things  I  said  just  now,  but,  being  a  candid  sort 
of  character,  I  really  could  not  help  saying  them." 

"  You  are  an  artist,"  she  exclaimed,  relenting  a  little 
and  setting  him  down  as  a  harmless  enthusiast. 

"  No,"  he  disclaimed ;  "  only  an  admirer !  " 

"Of  art?" 

"And  of  you!" 

"  How  interesting !  "  She  spoke  with  marked  severity, 
determined  that  the  conversation  should  end  there  and 
then. 

He  fumbled  in  his  waistcoat  pocket  and  brought  out 
something  that  shone  as  it  caught  the  sunlight.  She 
could  not  help  glancing  at  it  curiously  as  he  held  it 
towards  her  smilingly.  It  was  the  half  of  a  plain  gold 
ring. 

"  Oh,  this  is  very  alarming,"  she  gasped. 

"  *  I  promise  faithfully  to  be  your  sweetheart  true  for 
always  ! '  "  he  reminded  her. 

She  stared  at  him,  then  could  scarce  refrain  from 
laughter. 

He  looked  sorrowful  and  dejected. 

"  Such  is  life,"  he  declared  plaintively.  "  I  ought 
not  to  have  expected  anything  better.  And  to  think  of 
your  indignation  when  I  predicted  this  would  be  the 
very  way  you'd  receive  me." 

She  had  no  doubt  now  she  had  been  accosted  by  a 
lunatic.  "  Aren't  you  making  a  mistake  ?  "  she  sug- 
gested, not  altogether  unalarmed,  and  trying  to  handle 
him  gently. 

"  We  used  to  be  such  very  good  friends,  Miss  Ruth- 
ven,"  he  went  on  reproachfully.  "  Where  is  the  other 


THE  BENEDICT  197 

half  of  my  ring?  I  suppose  you  forgot  all  about  it 
years  ago." 

Her  eyes  were  wide  open  now,  and  her  brush  lay  in 
the  dust  at  the  bottom  of  the  punt.  In  her  white,  scared 
face  was  clearly  visible  the  struggle  to  recover  memories 
that  just  stirred  evasively  and  rushed  back  through 
the  crowded  years  of  childhood,  each  as  long  and  busy 
as  a  century. 

"  I  remember  you,"  she  said  suddenly,  as  the  colour 
flooded  back  to  her  cheeks.  She  sprang  out  of  the  punt. 
"  Only  you  were  not  so  brown,  nor  so  stout,  and  your 
beard  was  shorter.  But  it  suits  you  very  well  the  way 
you  wear  it  now." 

He  took  both  her  hands.  "  But  why  did  you  forget 
everything  like  that?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  what  nonsense !  "  she  said  in  her  girlish,  off-hand 
way.  "  Uncle  was  talking  about  you  only  last  night. 
He  said  you  were  probably  in  Patagonia.  You  are  his 
best  friend,  aren't  you  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so." 

"  Well,  I  think  you  are  a  strange  best  friend." 

"  But  tell  me,  what  have  you  done  with  your  half  of 
the  ring?  " 

"  Oh,  I  haven't  seen  it  for  years,"  she  replied  with  the 
same  nonchalance  as  before.  "  I  daresay  it's  lying  about 
somewhere.  It's  so  very  long  ago  since  you  gave  it  to 
me — I  was  only  a  tiny  child  then." 

"  And  now  you  despise  such  things ! " 

"  Oh,  how  absurd !  I  suppose  you  have  already  seen 
uncle?" 

"  I  only  arrived  yesterday — late  in  the  evening.  I 
had  a  great  deal  to  do  this  morning,  and  so  I  thought 
it  better  to  run  down  here  than  to  intercept  him  for  a 
minute  in  town.  I  knew,  of  course,  he  wouldn't  have 
got  home  yet,  but  I  did  not  suppose  I  should  find  the 
house  absolutely  deserted." 

"  Gwenny  goes  up  to  town  on  Tuesdays  for  her  music 


198  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

lesson,"  she  explained ;  "  and  uncle  brings  her  home 
again.  Dearie  has  gone  to  call  on  some  people,  and  I 
found  it  rather  dull  all  by  myself.  But  if  you'll  kindly 
allow  me  the  use  of  my  hands,  Mr.  Preston,  I'll  gather 
up  my  things,  and  take  you  back  to  tea.  Do  you  know, 
I  rather  enjoy  being  hostess." 

"  I  should  imagine  you'd  make  a  first-rate  one,"  he 
observed.  "  Well,  the  least  I  can  offer  in  return  for 
your  taking  me  back  is  to  take  your  things  back." 

Soon  they  were  moving  along  side  by  side,  and 
chatting  away  on  the  happiest  of  terms ;  he  charmingly 
attentive  and  protective,  she  animated  and  gay,  with  a 
big  sense  both  of  her  resplendent  cavalier  and  of  the 
eventfulness  of  his  coming.  Nevertheless  he  was  notic- 
ing her  closely.  And,  indeed,  she  was  showing  herself 
in  all  sorts  of  lights.  She  was  the  frank,  open-hearted 
girl-child,  loving  all  that  children  love,  full  of  enthu- 
siasm, and  with  a  naive,  boundless  joy  in  every  pleasure; 
she  was  shrewd,  clear-sighted,  a  merciless  mocker,  a 
clever  manoeuvrer.  She  was  the  charming  companion, 
unaffectedly  good-natured  and  comrade-like ;  she  was  the 
fine  lady,  proudly  conscious  of  her  superiority  to  com- 
mon clay,  and  armed  with  a  subtle  finesse  of  manner  that 
made  her  quite  equal  to  a  role  on  the  stage  of  life.  Al- 
together Preston  perceived  in  her  a  great  deal  of  origi- 
nality, and  he  was  vastly  amused  at  her  excellent  stock  of 
well-bred  conventional  phrases  which  she  brought  out 
prettily  in  the  right  places  in  connection  with  the  more 
dignified  and  grown-up  side  of  her  character. 

Meantime  she  was  confidential  with  him  to  the  verge 
of  imprudence,  which  (seeing  how  clever  a  little  person 
she  was)  might  have  astonished  him,  had  he  not  under- 
stood he  was  to  her  a  unique  being  suddenly  descended 
from  the  skies,  and  she  was  glad  to  tell  everything  to 
one  who  was  so  new,  yet  so  intimate  and  important. 
He,  of  course,  in  the  state  of  his  ignorance  about  all 
that  appertained  to  Hubert's  present  life,  welcomed  the 


THE  BENEDICT  199 

chance  of  enlightenment — for  he  was  being  enlightened 
far  more  than  she  imagined ;  though  primarily  the  sweet 
flood  of  her  discourse  was  concerned  with  herself — her 
secrets,  her  occupations,  her  likes,  and  dislikes — and 
everything  and  everybody  else  only  figured  therein  so 
far  as  they  affected  that  central  and  important  con- 
sciousness. As  most  things  and  persons  imprinted 
themselves  very  sharply  thereon,  her  painting  of  the 
neighbourhood  became  most  vivid  to  him.  The  world 
seemed  to  have  been  created  specially  for  her  enter- 
tainment. Scarcely  a  soul  but  had  characteristics  that 
afforded  exercise  for  her  ridicule.  Yet  she  was  in  no 
wise  ill-natured,  and  was  always  lavish  of  enthusiasm 
where  her  affections  had  been  engaged. 

And  although,  as  she  danced  along,  she  overflowed 
with  all  this  eager  rattle,  she  never  for  a  moment  forgot 
the  immediate  present  or  failed  to  have  a  quick  eye  for 
everything  in  the  landscape.  As  she  led  him  through 
the  pretty  by-ways,  she  had  something  to  say  about 
every  house  and  farm  and  field — always  dashed  in 
parenthetically. 

By  the  time  they  struck  the  main  road,  Preston  was 
in  possession  of  the  chief  new  facts  in  Hubert's  life,  and 
that  without  any  marked  questioning  on  his  part.  He 
manifested  no  surprise  when  it  dawned  upon  him  his 
friend  had  a  wife — had  had  one,  as  he  was  able  to  make 
out  presently,  for  two  years.  That  was  the  mysterious 
person  whom  May  was  habitually  referring  to  as 
"  Dearie."  Ever  since  the  marriage,  he  gathered,  the 
Ruthvens  had  had  very  many  more  people  coming  to 
see  them,  and  only  three  months  before  there  had  been 
great  doings  in  the  house  on  the  occasion  when  one  of 
Dearie's  sisters  had  married  a  gentleman- farmer  in  this 
very  district. 

"  We  have  ever  so  many  friends  now,"  she  told  him  in 
a  tone  that  implied  an  immense  satisfaction.  "  So  now 
Dearie  goes  out  visiting  a  great  deal,  and  though  she 


200  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

always  complains  to  uncle  that  it  makes  her  very  tired, 
I  know  she  enjoys  herself  all  the  same.  I  only  wish  I 
were  old  enough  to  go  visiting." 

She  put  quite  a  wistful  intonation  into  her  last 
sentence. 

Preston  thought  the  taste  somewhat  unnatural,  but 
discreetly  kept  the  opinion  to  himself.  He  hazarded, 
however — 

"  Perhaps  you  might  not  find  it  quite  the  joy  you 
imagined.  I  dare  say  your  experience  has  taught  you 
by  now  that  many  things  are  disappointing  in  this 
world." 

She  opened  her  eyes  wide.  Such  a  disparagement  of 
the  world  was  astonishing  to  her. 

"  You  mustn't  think  I've  had  no  experience  of  visit- 
ing," she  exclaimed.  "  Why,  Gwen  and  I  go  to  all  the 
children's  parties.  And  then  we  go  out  to  tea  quite 
often,  for  we  are  special  favourites.  Everybody  likes  to 
know  us,  and  to  come  to  the  house,  and  don't  they  all 
say  sweet  things  to  Dearie !  Dearie  is  always  so  pleased 
and  happy,  and  she  swallows  everything  they  tell  her. 
But  I  know  why  they  make  such  a  fuss  over  her.  It's 
because  they  know  Lady  Wycliffe  is  such  a  great  friend 
of  uncle's,  and  her  great  chum,  the  Honourable  Mrs. 
Drummond,  who  is  the  big  lady  of  the  neighbourhood, 
visits  us  regularly.  Gwen  and  I  are  great  favourites  of 
Mrs.  Drummond's,  and  she  often  has  us  to  pass  the 
afternoon.  Whenever  Lady  Wycliffe  com,es  to  stay 
with  her,  she  sends  round  the  carriage  to  fetch  us.  They 
are  both  such  dear  old  ladies,  and  so  kind !  I  like  them 
much  better  than  the  other  people  round  here.  So  you 
see,  Mr.  Preston,  that,  though  I  am  still  a  mere  child,  I 
am  quite  in  society.  I  mean  to  go  out  a  great  deal 
when  I'm  grown  up,  as  I'm  very  rich,  or  at  least  I  shall 
be  when  I'm  twenty-one.  .  .  .  And  rich  people,  you 
know,  are  wanted  everywhere,"  she  wound  up  laugh- 
ingly. 


THE  BENEDICT  201 

"  Ah,  your  views  of  the  world  are  distinctly  tinged 
with  cynicism." 

"What  is  that?"  she  asked.  "It's  much  too  mys- 
terious a  word  for  a  mere  child."  She  was  evidently 
fond  of  this  playful  mode  of  self-allusion. 

"  '  Cynicism  '  is  difficult  to  define.  You  may  take  it 
that  I  was  struck  by  your  exactness  of  observation. 
But  I  had  no  idea  you  were  an  heiress !  Has  your 
uncle  discovered  a  gold-mine?  " 

"  You  are  a  strange  best  friend,"  she  said  again. 
"  Why,  you  don't  seem  to  know  anything  about  us." 

"  You  must  remember  I've  been  in  wild,  out-of-the- 
way  places,  often  quite  beyond  the  range  of  any  post- 
man, and  it's  almost  three  years  now  since  I  had  a  letter 
from  Hubert.  One  big  batch  of  letters  I  know  went 
wrong,  and  a  great  sackful  is  waiting  for  me  in  Wales." 

"  Then  you've  never  heard  that  poor  granny  died 
eighteen  months  ago.  It  was  of  a  broken  heart — she 
didn't  approve  of  uncle's  marriage." 

"  Hubert's  mother  dead !  "  exclaimed  Preston.  "  How 
he  must  have  been  cut  up ! " 

He  walked  on  in  silence.  He  had  only  just  been 
congratulating  himself  that  his  friend  had  apparently 
been  spared  the  more  tragic  griefs  of  existence,  and  he 
was  altogether  unprepared  for  so  painful  an  announce- 
ment. Indeed,  the  shock  for  the  moment  obscured  the 
hint  of  accompanying  dramatic  circumstances.  But  he 
had  taken  everything  in,  and  presently  found  himself 
wondering  what  manner  of  woman  it  was  Hubert  had 
married,  and  why  she  had  failed  so  signally  to  come 
up  to  the  old  Mrs.  Ruthven's  expectations.  That  she 
was  a  somewhat  conventional  person  he  had  already 
gathered,  for  he  trusted  the  child's  clear  vision,  on  which 
he  could  place  his  own  more  sophisticated  and  experi- 
enced interpretation.  Though  he  had  his  fears  that 
Hubert  "  had  rather  messed  up  things,"  and  there  was 
a  great  deal  about  which  he  was  eager  for  enlighten- 


202  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

ment,  he  could  not,  of  course,  pursue  the  subject  with 
his  sprightly  companion. 

"  I  am  sorry — very  sorry !  "  was  all  he  was  impelled 
to  say  when  at  last  he  spoke  again. 

She  divined  the  depth  of  his  feeling,  slight  as  was  its 
manifestation. 

"  Granny  was  awfully  nice,"  she  resumed  in  a  soberer 
tone.  "  We  were  all  very  fond  of  her.  But  she  had  to 
be  humoured.  After  uncle's  marriage,  she  never  came 
to  see  us  again.  (Of  course  Gwenny  and  I  are  sup- 
posed not  to  understand  anything  of  the  whole  matter. ) 
And  then  one  day  we  heard  she  had  died  quite  sud- 
denly. She  hated  Dearie — though  I  could  never  make 
out  why  myself.  I  believe  it  was  only  a  whim,  because 
uncle  didn't  tell  her  everything  beforehand." 

"  And  I  suppose  your  fortune  came  from  her?  " 

"  She  left  five  thousand  pounds  to  me,  and  the  same 
to  Gwenny.  Uncle  was  very  much  surprised.  He 
had  no  idea  she  had  so  much  money.  But  here 
we  are ! " 

She  ordered  his  old  room  to  be  made  ready,  and, 
when  he  had  taken  possession  of  it,  went  off  herself  to 
effect  a  rapid  change  of  toilette.  When  he  came  down 
again,  he  found  her  already  on  the  verandah,  and  busy 
over  a  charming  tea-table.  He  sank  into  the  low- 
cushioned  chair  she  graciously  allotted  him,  feeling  very 
much  in  awe  of  the  grand  little  lady  into  which  the 
friendly  artist  of  the  simple  stuff  frock  and  old  sailor's 
hat  had  transmogrified  herself.  Consciously  enacting 
the  hostess,  and  consciously  doing  it  well,  she  was  a 
quaint  mixture  of  dignified  formality  and  delightful 
unconstraint.  He  saw — and  not  for  the  first  time — that 
she  had  of  graces  many.  Her  most  careless  movement 
was  perfect  in  its  way,  whether  she  reclined  back  in  her 
chair,  or  bent  forwards,  or  put  out  her  hand  to  take  up 
her  cup,  or  raised  her  face  to  his,  and  kept  it  in  motion- 
less attention  as  he  spoke.  Nor  did  she  please  his  eye 


THE  BENEDICT  203 

the  less  when  she  suddenly  sprang  up  in  her  girlish 
impulsive  fashion  to  refill  his  cup  which  she  had  neglected 
for  a  moment  or  two  after  it  was  empty. 

Naturally  she  still  had  a  great  deal  to  tell  him.  A 
whole  week  could  scarcely  have  exhausted  all  that  was 
ready  to  flow  from  her  mind,  nor,  indeed,  could  provi- 
dence have  sent  her  a  more  willing  listener.  Of  course, 
her  conversation  remained,  as  before,  for  the  most  part 
frankly  egotistic.  She  had  a  pony  of  her  own,  a  dear 
thing  which  she  must  take  him  to  see  presently  (some 
day  soon  she  would  race  him )  ;  she  played  tennis — and 
challenged  him;  she  gardened — and  would  show  him 
what  she  had  this  year  made  of  her  own  bit  of  ground ; 
she  painted  and  drew — had  enough  sketches  to  enable 
him  to  say  savage  things  to  his  candid  heart's  content; 
she  played  and  sang — though  not  the  show  musician  of 
the  family;  she  was  fond  of  reading — she  liked  fairy- 
tales and  history  best,  and  often  browsed  among  the 
dusty  tomes  in  Hubert's  library.  She  astonished  him, 
too,  by  confessing  a  liking  for  chemistry,  a  forlorn, 
capricious  inclination,  which,  alone  of  the  sciences,  had 
somehow  strayed  in  amid  her  eager  accomplishments. 
Most  other  formal  studies  she  did  not  care  for  very 
much.  Miss  Williams,  who  was  now  a  bachelor  of  arts, 
still  superintended  their  studies,  though  it  had  been  de- 
cided she  and  Gwenny  were  to  go  to  school  in  the 
autumn,  and  they  both  liked  the  idea. 

"  But  uncle  can't  quite  make  up  his  mind  what  kind 
of  a  place  to  select.  I  think  it  must  be  very  nice  to  go 
to  a  good  school  for  a  couple  of  years.  Of  course  not 
a  boarding-school,  but  a  day-college  where  they  treat 
you  in  a  sensible  way.  We  should  lodge  with  friends, 
perhaps  with  Dearie's  mother." 

"  Then  you'll  be  going  to  London.  I  suppose  you're 
looking  forward  to  it." 

"  Oh  yes,  indeed." 

"  You're  very  fond  of  London  ?  " 


204  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

Her  eyes  lit  up  with  an  ecstacy  that  spoke  more 
clearly  than  any  words. 

"  London !  I  never  get  enough  of  it.  Gwenny  is 
more  fortunate,  as  she  is  supposed  to  be  studying  music 
seriously  with  Madame  Bartolozzi.  It  is  seldom  that 
poor  May  gets  an  excuse  for  going.  Uncle  doesn't  care 
for  London  much,  once  he  has  done  his  work;  but  then 
he  is  perfectly  happy  among  his  books.  When  I  grow 
up,  I  mean  to  live  in  London  at  least  half  the  year. 
Last  time  we  drove  down  Park  Lane,  Dearie  told  me 
who  lived  in  each  house.  Dearie  often  reads  about  them 
in  a  large  red  book — all  about  their  ancestors  and  their 
sons  and  daughters,  and  the  years  in  which  they  were 
born." 

"  Another  unnatural  taste,"  reflected  Preston.  It 
struck  him  as  more  mysterious  than  ever  that  Hubert's 
mother  should  have  taken  so  tragic  an  antipathy  to  this 
apparently  model  daughter-in-law. 

"  It's  not  often  that  uncle  thinks  of  taking  us  to  a 
theatre,"  she  sighed.  "  Now  I  love  the  theatre,  but  here 
we  get  only  a  circus  now  and  again.  Of  course  there's 
the  theatre  at  Yominster,  but  there  isn't  much  excite- 
ment or  enjoyment  in  going  to  that  awful  barn,  and, 
besides,  I  don't  at  all  approve  of  the  acting.  The  circus 
isn't  half  bad  though.  The  lions  and  tigers  are  splendid. 
I  should  like  to  have  a  tiger  for  a  pet.  Kitties  are  all 
very  well,  but  they're  too  tame  and  too  tiny.  I  want  a 
real,  fierce,  beautiful  tiger  with  a  magnificent  roar.  I 
always  get  very  angry  when  I  see  them  walking  round 
and  round  their  cages,  lashing  their  tails.  I  should  just 
love  to  let  them  out — it  would  be  such  fun  to  see  the 
people  scampering  away  in  terror." 

"  But  what  if  the  dear  things  made  a  meal  of  you!  " 

"  They  wouldn't  hurt  me,"  she  declared  confidently. 
"  They'd  all  come  to  me  at  my  call  and  lie  down  quite 
nicely,  and  I'd  smooth  their  manes  and  call  them  pet 
names.  And  they'd  keep  perfectly  still  whilst  I  sketched 


THE  BENEDICT  205 

them — of  course  I'd  flatter  them  a  little  in  the  draw- 
ing. After  that  they'd  love  me  and  protect  me,  and 
nobody  in  the  world  would  dare  to  harm  me." 

"  My  dear  girl,  you  could  not  go  about  all  your  life 
with  a  troop  of  lions  and  tigers.  You'd  be  finding  them 
a  nuisance  after  a  time." 

"  That  was  only  a  picture  for  the  moment." 

"  Well,  tell  me,  what  is  your  real  ambition — if  you 
have  any  real  ambitions  ?  " 

"  I  have  a  great  many  real  ambitions,"  she  assured 
him ;  "  but  what  I  should  like  best  of  all  is  to  be  a  great 
princess  and  have  a  beautiful  palace  and  give  wonderful 
parties." 

"  And  invite  all  the  people  in  the  large  red  book," 
he  suggested. 

"  Yes,"  she  agreed  seriously.  "  And  Gwenny  could 
come  and  sing.  She  has  really  a  beautiful  voice. 
Madame  Bartolozzi  teaches  her  very  well,  you  know, 
but  she  puts  strange  ideas  in  her  head."  Already  she 
was  darting  off  along  another  track.  "  Sometimes  Gwen 
talks  to  me  about  them.  Of  course  I  tell  her  they're  all 
rot,  and  then  you  should  see  her  stare  at  me — just  as  if 
she  were  expecting  an  earthquake  the  very  next  moment. 
I  am  really  glad  I  thought  of  mentioning  it  to  you.  I 
wanted  to  mention  it  to  someone." 

"  What  ideas  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Preston. 

"  Oh,  about  religion,"  said  May  very  solemnly. 
"  Madame  Bartolozzi  is  a  Catholic,  and  she  and  Gwen 
took  up  with  each  other  specially  years  ago." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  she  tries  to  convert  her  ?  " 

"  Well,  not  exactly  that,  but  as  Madame  is  very  re- 
ligious and  talks  a  good  deal  about  religion  to  her, 
Gwen  picks  up  things.  Gwenny  is  good,  you  know;  I 
am  the  naughty  one ! " 

"  Oh,  I  daresay  there's  no  harm  done,"  said  Preston. 
"  When  she  grows  up  she'll  have  her  own  opinions. 
What  does  your  uncle  say?  " 


206  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

"  Uncle  doesn't  know  anything  about  it.  I  haven't 
said  a  word  to  him — that  would  be  sneaking — although 
he  has  more  little  talks  with  me  than  with  Gwenny.  I 
am  the  favourite,  but  I'm  sure  he  doesn't  know  it.  He 
thinks  he  is  the  same  to  both  of  us.  Uncle  has  rather 
good  ideas.  He  used  to  tell  us  what  he  thought  about 
religion  himself,  at  least  so  far  as  we  mere  children  could 
be  expected  to  understand  him.  When  we  grow  up,  we 
are  to  be  free  to  choose  for  ourselves.  Now  I  like 
that!" 

"  But  what  does  Mrs.  Hubert  say?  "  asked  Preston, 
growing  interested. 

"  Oh,  she  goes  to  church  regularly.  She  likes  us  to  go 
as  well.  Besides,  uncle  himself  is  different  from  what  he 
used  to  be.  I  think  he  must  be  changing — though  he 
has  never  said  anything  about  it  to  me  yet,  at  least  not 
in  any  direct  way.  I  fancy  ho  sometimes  hints  at  things, 
but  perhaps  he  doesn't  like  to  go  back  on  what  he  used 
to  tell  us.  Anyhow,  it's  very  difficult  to  understand  what 
exactly  he  does  think.  He  goes  to  church  with  the  rest 
of  us  sometimes.  I  remember  Mr.  Rutherford — the  vicar 
— was  perfectly  radiant  with  joy  the  first  time  he  saw 
uncle  with  us  in  the  pew.  He  smiled  and  smiled  at  him 
all  through  the  sermon,  and  I'm  sure  he  put  in  a  lot 
extempore  specially  for  uncle's  benefit.  After  the  service 
he  came  to  shake  hands  with  us  all,  and  I  really  thought 
he'd  have  uncle's  arm  out  of  its  socket." 

"  For  a  little  infidel  you  seem  to  allow  yourself  to  be 
haled  off  to  church  pretty  meekly." 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  exactly  an  infidel.  And  I  don't  mind 
going  to  church  at  all — though,  of  course,  I  don't  pre- 
tend to  like  it  as  much  as  Gwenny.  You  should  see  her 
sitting  there  pale  and  awe-struck.  I  am  sure  she  must 
be  frightfully  superstitious,  what  with  all  the  moonshine 
Madame  Bartolozzi  puts  into  her  head.  She  left  off 
taking  notice  of  all  the  poor  beasties,  because  Madame 
told  her  that  if  you  get  too  fond  of  animals  you  begin 


THE  BENEDICT  207 

to  lose  your  affection  for  people.  And  Gwenny  takes 
it  all  in." 

"  There's  rather  more  in  that  superstition  than  you 
think,"  declared  Preston.  "  I  once  got  very  fond  of  all 
animals,  and  I  found  myself  hating  most  people  in  the 
world." 

She  looked  extremely  surprised.  "  But  it  was  only 
fancy,"  she  suggested. 

"  No — for  it  would  still  hold  good  now,  only  I  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  people  weren't  even  worth  hating." 

She  wrinkled  her  brow.    "  That's  very  puzzling !  " 

He  dropped  the  point  somewhat  abruptly.  "  I  wonder 
if  you'll  continue  going  to  church  when  you  are  your 
own  mistress." 

"  I  suppose  I  shall.  One  must  do  as  everybody  else 
does.  One  ought  not  to  shock  people  unnecessarily," 
she  said  gravely.  "  Now  Master  Francis — he  is  the 
vicar's  son — he  boasts  that  he  doesn't  believe  anything 
at  all.  That's  very  wrong  of  him.  But  really — how  I 
have  been  chattering!  I  hope  you  haven't  been  bored." 

"  Bored !    You  have  entertained  me  delightfully." 

She  found  the  compliment  to  her  taste.  "  How  splen- 
did !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Now  I  shall  let  you  write  your 
name  in  my  nice  new  book  with  a  nice  new  thought  of 
your  own." 

She  ran  off  to  fetch  it — a  luxurious  violet-scented 
album  with  soft-tinted  satiny  pages. 

"  It  has  only  just  been  given  to  me,  so  that  yours  will 
be  its  first  autograph." 

On  the  fly-leaf  she  had  already  inscribed  her  own 
name  with  her  address  and  a  date.  There  was  distinc- 
tion and  individuality  in  the  handwriting,  with  a  tinge 
of  affectation  and  self-consciousness.  Backhanded,  yet 
firm,  clear  and  artistic,  with  large  s's  flowing  far  below 
the  line  and  very  elaborate  capitals,  it  spoke  of  glowing 
youth,  of  a  haughty  consciousness  of  high  superiority — 
in  fine,  of  a  very  big  ego. 


208  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

"  I  should  like  something  about  music — something 
very  charming  for  the  first  page." 

Preston  considered,  dipped  the  pen  in  the  ink,  con- 
sidered again,  and  finally  attacked  the  shining  roseate 
page  with  considerable  nerve. 

"  Music  is  but  the  echo  of  beauty  that  is  in  our- 
selves." 

"  How  sweet !  how  pretty ! "  she  exclaimed  enthusi- 
astically. "  I  like  that  very  much." 

She  looked  really  pleased.  She  waited  till  the  ink 
was  dry,  then  produced  the  long-neglected  half  of  her 
visitor's  ring,  which  she  had  brought  at  the  same  time 
as  the  album. 

"  See ! "  she  said,  holding  it  towards  him.  "  Here  it 
is,  safe  after  all.  I  looked  for  it  just  now — I  was 
feeling  rather  guilty  about  it." 

"  You're  not  expecting  me  to  take  it  back  ?  "  he  asked 
glumly. 

"  Well,  I'm  not  sure  I  ought  to  keep  it,"  she  said 
doubtfully. 

"  Ah,  you  dislike  me." 

"  No,  indeed,"  she  protested.  "  I  like  you  very  much. 
You  are  a  brick.  There,  I  shall  keep  it  after  all.  And 
now  let  me  show  you  my  pony." 


II 

"F  F'^HEN  Preston  had  exhausted  all  the  sight- 
i/g/  seeing  (for  the  visit  to  May's  pony  had 

F  p  naturally  extended  itself  into  a  personally- 

conducted  tour),  he  was  taken  back  to  the 
verandah,  and  then  through  one  of  the  tall  French  win- 
dows into  the  drawing  room — for  Hubert's  library  had 
been  long  since  dispossessed  and  re-established  overhead. 
Preston  preferred  his  memory  of  the  former  room,  with 
its  strange  outline  splendidly  filled  in  with  books,  to  the 
present  daintier  version,  panelled  in  white  and  gold,  and 
prettily  set  out  with  rugs  and  water-colour  sketches, 
satinwood  furniture,  Dresden  china  and  old  silver.  But 
then,  he  admitted,  he  was  prejudiced.  A  beautifully- 
bound  book  on  a  tiny  table,  which  his  hand  mechanically 
turned  over,  proved  to  be  a  translation  of  Machiavelli's 
History  of  Florence.  He  asked  May  whether  she  had 
read  it — since  she  was  fond  of  history.  She  replied  that 
the  only  reason  she  hadn't  read  it  (though  she  had  taken 
it  up  several  times)  was  that  it  was  part  of  the  drawing- 
room,  and  she  preferred  to  browse  in  the  library.  She 
had,  however,  just  finished  Roscoe's  Life  of  Leo  the 
Tenth,  and  intended  some  day  to  read  the  whole  of 
Machiavelli.  Indeed,  she  had  a  pronounced  taste  for 
Italian  history,  and  Hubert  had  in  fact  promised  her 
that,  a  few  years  hence,  she  should  pass  as  long  a  time 
in  Italy  as  she  might  desire. 

A  rustling  in  the  doorway  just  then  informed  Preston 
they  were  no  longer  alone.  Turning  his  head  instinc- 
tively, he  beheld  an  extraordinarily  happy-looking 
woman  (still  in  bonnet  and  jacket),  very  fair,  with  re- 
fined features  and  large,  girlish  eyes.  She  had  stopped 

209 


210  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

on  the  threshold,  evidently  surprised  at  the  sight  of  a 
visitor.  But  May  at  once  tripped  over  to  her,  and, 
kissing  her  affectionately,  called  out  laughingly — 

"  A  very  old  friend  of  mine  has  come  to  see  us, 
Dearie." 

Constance  looked  perplexed  for  an  instant,  but  smiled 
at  Preston  as  May,  holding  both  her  hands,  almost  drew 
her  forward  into  the  room. 

"  An  old  friend  of  our  little  girl's  is  indeed  welcome," 
she  assured  him. 

The  frankness  and  unaffected  cordiality  of  her 
manner,  and  something  in  the  ring  of  her  voice  which 
seemed  to  indicate  a  really  nice  nature,  modified  agree- 
ably the  preliminary  idea  he  had  formed  of  her. 

"  Mr.  Preston  is  perfectly  at  home  already,"  said 
May.  "  I  have  been  entertaining  him  delightfully." 

"  Mr.  Preston !  "  Constance  was  all  white.  "  Good 
gracious ! "  she  gasped,  then  laughed  and  held  out  her 
hand.  "  Give  me  a  moment,  please,  to  collect  my  wits. 
I  have  always  looked  upon  my  meeting  with  you  as  a 
most  important  and  dramatic  event,  but  I  never  imagined 
anything  so  unawares  as  this.  It  is  really  hard  on  me 
to  be  caught  in  this  way,  just  after  having  indulged  in  a 
riot  of  small  gossip  and  weak  tea." 

"  Oh,  but  Mr.  Preston  has  been  doing  exactly  the 
same  thing,"  put  in  May,  indicating  the  table  on  the 
verandah. 

"  Saucy  child !  "  said  Constance.  "  I  hope  your  riot, 
Mr.  Preston,  was  not  too  much  of  a  trial." 

"  Oh !  "  exclaimed  May  indignantly. 

"  On  the  contrary,"  smiled  Preston ;  "  I  have  learnt 
that  small  gossip  and  weak  tea — if  that  is  what  I  have 
been  indulging  in — have  a  charm  in  combination  that  I 
never  before  suspected." 

"  A  new  pleasure  for  you  to  cultivate ! "  laughed 
Constance.  "  Once  upon  a  time  I  used  to  have  a  certain 
contempt  for  that  sort  of  thing,  or,  at  least,  for  the 


THE  BENEDICT  211 

small  gossip — weak  tea  is  quite  an  old  indulgence  of 
mine — but  as  one  gets  older  one  begins  to  develop  the 
taste.  I  find  it  so  soothing  and  refreshing,  quite  the 
pleasantest  form  of  recreation,  in  fact,  after  household 
management.  And  the  more  malicious  the  gossip,  the 
better  I  like  it!  I  really  ought  to  feel  ashamed  of  my- 
self." 

"Not  in  the  least,"  he  declared.  "The  taste  for 
scandal — and  even  for  poking  one's  nose  into  other 
folks'  business — is  perfectly  genuine,  and  ought  to  be 
accorded  honourable  recognition.  It  is  really  artistic  at 
bottom — represents  the  natural  craving  of  the  dramatic 
instincts.  The  novelists  have  merely  caught  up  the 
hint.  Great  creative  work  and  small  gossip  grow  from 
the  same  root." 

"  Ah,  well,  I  am  dying  to  have  some  gossip  with  you, 
small  or  large;  but  Hubert  will  be  here  soon,  and 
domestic  matters,  alas,  must  claim  me  for  awhile.  You 
are  staying  the  night,  I  hope." 

"  If  I  may  presume  on  your  hospitality." 

"  Then  please  amuse  yourself.  Why  not  astonish 
Hubert  by  letting  him  find  you  in  his  study — you  might 
pretend  to  be  your  ghost!  There  are  large  accumu- 
lations of  books  since  you  were  here  last.  You  will 
find  they  have  overflowed  into  most  of  the  other  rooms. 
And,  by  the  way,  Mr.  Preston,  I  want  to  take  the  op- 
portunity of  thanking  you  for  introducing  me  to  my 
husband.  I  always  meant  that  to  be  my  first  greeting 
to  you,  but,  of  course,  I  had  no  idea  I  should  be  thrown 
out  of  my  reckoning  like  this." 

"  So  you  were  my  introduction,"  repeated  Preston 
with  a  laugh.  "  To  be  frank,  I  have  no  recollection  of 
the  occasion — nor  even  of  you.  As  you  had  no  recol- 
lection of  me,  I  mean  personally,  of  course,  that  is  only 
tit  for  tat.  So  let  us  forgive  each  other." 

"  Willingly,"  she  agreed  good-humouredly.  "  But 
please  try  to  remember  me  all  the  same.  I  shall  feel 


so  complimented  if  you  succeed — before  Hubert  gives 
me  away.  I  have  never  forgotten  the  fateful  moment, 
but,  truth  to  tell,  I  accept  the  fact  entirely  on  Hubert's 
authority  that  the  vague  somebody  who  adroitly  got  rid 
of  me  after  only  two  seconds  of  conversation  was  no 
other  than  Mr.  Preston." 

"  I  passed  on  to  him  so  many  pretty  women  in  the 
old  days.  Hubert  was  so  much  more  proof  against  the 
sex  than  I,  and  I  was  always  mortally  afraid  of  finding 
myself  in  the  toils." 

"  Why  afraid?  "  she  retorted.  "  I'm  sure  it  would 
have  been  a  very  good  thing  for  you." 

He  only  smiled  in  reply,  so  with  an  "  au  revoir  "  she 
left  him  to  occupy  himself  as  best  he  might.  But  he 
had  not  the  slightest  intention  of  cudgelling  his  brains 
in  the  effort  to  recall  when  and  where  he  had  been  the 
instrument  of  first  bringing  Hubert  and  his  wife  to- 
gether. The  fact  itself  he  looked  upon  as  a  mere  amu- 
sing coincidence — indeed,  the  more  he  reflected  on  it, 
the  more  it  amused  him.  He  had  no  reason  for  supposing 
that  Hubert  was  mistaken;  the  incident  was  perfectly 
likely  on  the  face  of  it.  The  name  of  Constance  Powers 
he  might,  no  doubt,  have  remembered — the  thought  of 
the  unimportant  actress  whom  his  friend  had  avowedly 
visited  did  vaguely  hover  in  his  mind  as  it  plunged 
back  to  the  Pump  Court  days;  but  out  of  so  many 
possibilities  it  did  not  occur  to  him  to  identify  Mrs. 
Ruthven  with  a  person  who,  as  Hubert  had  informed 
him  at  the  time,  had  married  somebody  else. 

Presently  he  thought  it  would  be  a  good  idea  to  adopt 
Mrs.  Ruthven's  suggestion  that  he  should  wait  for  Hu- 
bert in  the  library,  especially  as  he  hadn't  seen  the  room 
yet.  So  May  readily  led  the  way  up-stairs,  and  even 
stayed  with  him  a  little  to  explain  things.  His  face 
lighted  up  as  all  Hubert's  old  treasures  caught  his  eye, 
from  the  fat  Dutch  cabinet  to  the  Frisian  clock.  As  he 
put  it  to  May,  the  sight  of  them  made  him  feel  more 


THE  BENEDICT  213 

than  anything  else  had  done  that  he  was  really  home 
again.  Indeed,  it  was  almost  like  being  back  at  the  old 
place  in  Pump  Court. 

Soon  his  little  friend  left  him  to  get  ready  for  the 
evening,  and  he  spent  some  pleasant  minutes  moving 
about  the  room,  taking  down  a  book  here  and  there, 
handling  a  curio,  or  inspecting  a  familiar  engraving. 
Finally,  finding  himself  a  little  fatigued,  he  came  to  a 
stand  by  one  of  the  windows,  and,  vaguely  looking  out 
across  the  garden,  he  fell  a-pondering  on  his  impressions 
of  this  little  corner  of  life  which  he  had  let  strike  so 
suddenly  on  his  consciousness. 

Having  thus  far  had  only  the  merest  glimpse  of 
Hubert's  wife,  he  hesitated  as  yet  to  form  any  very 
definite  conception  of  her.  To  some  extent  he  was 
easier  in  his  mind  now,  for  he  admitted  he  had  been 
anxious  as  to  the  sort  of  person  his  friend  had  married. 
It  was  a  firm  article  of  faith  with  him  that  the  best 
woman  in  the  world  was  scarcely  good  enough  for 
Hubert,  so  that  the  standard  he  was  instinctively  im- 
pelled to  apply  was  of  a  terrible  severity — a  fact  of 
which  poor  Constance  had  been  happily  ignorant. 
Whatever  misgivings  he  might  still  entertain  about 
her,  she  had,  at  any  rate,  struck  him  as  intelligent,  and 
he  hoped  that  that  quality  of  hers  was  not  merely 
illusory.  His  experience  had  taught  him  to  distrust 
first  impressions  of  a  woman's  intelligence,  and  he  held 
that  the  woman — by  no  means  uncommon — who  was 
brisk  and  bright  superficially,  yet  stupid  in  the  depths 
of  her  nature,  was  the  worst  possible  companion  for  a 
clever  man.  He  had  a  feeling,  too,  that  Hubert's  wife 
was  a  woman  with  a  story;  the  fact  somehow  seemed 
writ  on  her,  though  the  writing,  still  visible  to  his  sharp 
eyes,  was  faint  and  blurred  by  continued  prosperity  and 
happy  domesticity.  Perhaps,  indeed,  poor  old  Mrs. 
Ruthven  had  really  discovered  something  against  her; 
or  was  it  merely  the  lack  of  a  fortune  had  called  forth 


214.  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

that  bitter  hostility?  He  did  not  doubt  that  she  was  a 
good  soul — he  had  most  distinctly  felt  she  was !  Her 
friendly,  unembarrassed  way  had  at  once  appealed  to 
him,  and  he  attributed  to  her  both  candour  and  the  gift 
of  good-fellowship.  Still  he  missed  something  in  her, 
something  that  was  fine  and  lofty  and  noble — in  the 
Pagan  sense  rather  than  the  moral.  Her  bonnet  and 
jacket  might  have  subtly  suggested  it  to  him,  but  a 
fatal  hint  of  the  bourgeoise  had  come  from  her,  at  the 
moment  of  her  entrance,  fresh  from  paying  calls.  Cer- 
tainly the  ways  of  convention  were  pleasant  to  her. 

He  had  noticed  that  there  were  now  five  servants  at 
least  about  the  house  and  garden — though  he  was  not 
addicted  to  observing  details  of  that  kind.  Also  the 
new  stable  had  several  stalls  and  inmates,  while  a  smart 
caleche  besides  the  well-known  trap  had  already  caught 
his  eye.  Then,  of  course,  there  must  be  another  carriage 
in  which  Mrs.  Ruthven  had  done  her  afternoon's  visiting. 
Preston  fervently  hoped  that  Hubert,  who  had  never  had 
any  fortune  of  his  own,  was  not  killing  himself  to  main- 
tain these  appurtenances  of  gentility,  and  it  was  at  least 
some  comfort  to  reflect  that  the  children  now  had  means 
of  their  own.  He  wondered,  by  the  way,  what  Gwenny 
looked  like — the  Gwenny  who  sat  awe-struck  in  church, 
and  had  a  beautiful  voice.  He  imagined  her  pale  and 
in  velvet,  singing  in  a  beautiful  cathedral.  That  was 
because  he  was  an  artist,  and  fugitive  hints  and  impres- 
sions had  a  way  of  shaping  themselves  brilliantly. 

And  as  regards  May  herself,  how  was  it  she  had  said 
nothing  about  charity  or  love  of  the  poor?  Preston  was 
really  concerned  about  the  omission  on  her  part,  but  he 
liked  her  too  well  to  doubt  she  was  kind-hearted.  She 
was,  indeed,  a  strange  mixture  of  charming  imaginative- 
ness and  pleasure-loving  Philistinism.  On  the  latter  he 
scarcely  liked  to  dwell ;  it  was  pleasanter  to  wish  that 
the  other  soul  in  her  might  gain  the  ascendency  as  she 
grew  older. 


THE  BENEDICT  215 

For  a  beautiful  other  soul  it  was  when  it  entirely  took 
possession  of  her!  How  sweetly  and  gravely  she  had 
said,  as,  crossing  the  lawn  in  the  lengthening  shadows, 
they  had  passed  a  swarm  of  evening  flies,  "  Let  them  be 
happy — they  have  only  a  few  hours  to  live."  She  had 
confessed,  too,  to  stealing  out  of  doors  on  summer  nights 
when  all  the  world  slumbered,  just  to  see  what  was 
happening  in  the  moonlight.  Truly  there  was  a  charm- 
ing touch  of  fantasy  in  her,  and  of  a  kind  that  was  her 
very  own.  He  had  not  only  felt  it  in  her  personality, 
but  it  was  stamped  on  everything  that  belonged  to  her. 


Ill 

PRESTON'S  back  was  turned  to  the  door,  but 
Hubert  recognized  it  at  once  and  was  less 
startled  at  its  presence  in  his  study  than  the 
conspirators  had  anticipated.  He  knew  his 
man  too  well,  had,  indeed,  always  expected  he  would 
suddenly  appear  in  some  such  fashion.  But  if  Hubert 
wasn't  frightened  into  imagining  that  he  beheld  his 
friend's  ghost,  Preston,  as  he  turned  and  caught  sight 
of  the  figure  in  the  doorway  came  near  to  entertaining 
that  very  idea  with  regard  to  Hubert. 

"The  devil!"  he  cried. 

"  Of  all  greetings  the  most  frivolous  and  dismal," 
said  Hubert. 

They  laughed  and  clasped  hands. 

"  I  did  not  mean  you,  of  course,"  said  Preston.  "  But 
stand  a  moment.  The  afternoon  sunlight  is  shining  full 
upon  you.  Your  face  has  many  lines.  It  is  sad,  gentle, 
forbearing.  It  is  serious  and  learned,  full  of  high  phil- 
osophy. You  are  handsomer  than  you  were — what  with 
the  dash  of  grey  in  your  hair;  but  your  cheeks  are 
thinner.  You  look  tired  and  overworked." 

"  Well,  I  have  hardly  had  time  as  yet  to  shake  off  the 
dust  of  the  Strand.  My  work  though  of  late  has  been 
rather  heavy.  For  which  I  am  most  thankful.  The 
more  fees — the  merrier  for  my  little  nest  of  singing- 
birds.  And  you  must  understand  that  I  join  in  the 
singing  too." 

"  I  am  glad  to  find  you  are  so  much  more  lively  thp.n 
you  appear,"  said  Preston,  who  did  not  seem  very  much 
relieved  notwithstanding.  "  You  are  barely  forty,  but 
you  look  nearer  fifty.  Evidently  you  are  well  on  the 

216 


THE  BENEDICT  217 

way  to  the  Bench.  If  you  only  proceed  at  the  same 
rate,  why,  in  another  ten  years  you'll  be  the  very  image 
of  a  judge!  I  believe  you  must  be  strenuously  cultivat- 
ing the  type.  Only  your  stoop  must  now  remain  as  it 
is ;  it  is  quite  marked  enough — even  for  the  Bench. 
And  a  little  more  flesh  wouldn't  hurt.  I  hope  you  don't 
neglect  exercise." 

"  I  have  my  regular  canter  across  country,"  Hubert 
assured  him ;  "  and  I  frequently  take  a  racket  at  tennis 
with  the  girls.  My  appetite  and  my  digestion  are 
excellent.  My  dear  fellow,  I  am  not  nearly  the  wreck 
I  appear  to  have  impressed  you  as  being — there  is  not 
the  least  reason  for  concern  about  my  health.  ...  I 
am  certainly  not  worried  about  yours,"  he  added,  laugh- 
ing. 

"  Yes,  I  have  put  flesh  on,"  admitted  Preston.  "  In 
the  olden  days  when  I  kept  on  bothering  my  head  so 
much  about  the  universe,  I  used  to  waste  away.  But 
ever  since  I  learnt  to  say :  *  Let  the  universe  go  its  own 
way  and  be  damned,'  I  have  fattened  wonderfully.  My 
thought  at  present  partakes  of  my  corporeal  nature — it 
deals  only  with  solidities." 

"  Some  day  you'll  find  the  fat  has  been  accumulating 
a  little  too  fast,  and  then  perhaps  you'll  be  glad  to  work 
it  off  by  clutching  after  the  universe  again  and  trying 
to  make  it  go  your  way.  But  your  solidities  remind  me 
of  those  with  which  we  are  more  immediately  concerned 
— the  succulent  solidities  we  shall  be  called  upon  to 
deal  with  in  a  few  minutes." 

"  Oh,  you  had  better  get  cleaned  then.  I  have  already 
taken  possession  of  my  room,  and  I  know  my  way  about." 

It  was  a  happy  little  party  that  assembled  soon  after, 
though  dinner  was  delayed  considerably  beyond  the 
few  minutes  mentioned  by  Hubert;  Preston  smilingly 
divining  abnormal  preparations  as  Constance,  busy  and 
anxious,  made  a  pretence  of  being  with  them  in  the 
drawing-room  yet  kept  slipping  discreetly  out  of  it. 


218  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

Her  anxieties  were  at  last  apparently  allayed,  for  she 
was  smiling  gaily  when  she  took  her  seat  at  table. 

At  first  Preston  was  the  most  talkative  of  all,  keeping 
the  others  well  entertained  with  some  account  of  his 
itinerary  and  odd  bits  of  his  experiences  and  adven- 
tures. Hubert  sat  beaming  happily  at  the  head  of  the 
gaily-spread  board — with  its  charming  candelabra  and 
exquisite  flowers — his  cheeks  all  in  a  glow,  and  looking 
very  much  better  than  when  he  had  first  arrived  home. 
Constance,  facing  her  husband,  seemed  the  very  em- 
bodiment of  pride  in  her  well-ordered  household;  a 
shade  more  ceremonious,  now  that  she  was  presiding 
in  her  own  dining-room — as  the  stately  domesticity  of 
the  atmosphere  demanded.  The  fresh,  coquettish  manner 
of  youth  had  already  passed  into  the  even  demeanour 
and  temperament  of  the  mistress  of  a  home.  She  was 
pleased  and  sleek  and  happy — almost  to  purring  point, 
as  Preston  put  it  to  himself.  Indeed,  as  she  sat  there 
discreetly  attentive  and  smilingly  encouraging,  she  dis- 
tinctly reminded  him  of  the  innumerable  cousins  and 
sisters  of  his  own.  Hubert  might  just  as  well  have  mar- 
ried one  of  his  clan,  he  reflected.  He  could  have  offered 
him  an  immense  choice  of  that  sort  of  woman,  with  a 
touch  of  patrician  quality,  .moreover,  that  this  one 
lacked,  and  with  birth,  breeding,  and  fortune  enough  to 
have  added  another  score  of  years  to  the  old  Mrs. 
Ruthven's  existence!  He  was  really  sorry  now  he  had 
not  contrived  to  keep  Hubert  in  the  family. 

With  Gwenny,  Preston  found  himself  singularly 
pleased — she  was  so  astonishingly  like  the  ideal  figure 
her  sister's  chatter  had  caused  him  to  imagine.  Slightly 
taller  than  May,  she  was  evidently  of  a  far  less  robust 
type.  Yet  she  was  undoubtedly  beautiful  with  her  child's 
rounded  features,  her  graceful  neck,  her  dark-brown 
hair,  becomingly  encircled  with  a  velvet  band.  The  ivory 
pallor  of  her  complexion  gave  her  an  added  distinction, 
and  in  few  girls'  faces  had  Preston  seen  so  perfect  a 


THE  BENEDICT  219 

goodness.  She  was  quiet  and  attentive  most  of  the  time, 
opening  large  eyes  when  much  interested.  When  she 
spoke  it  was  with  shyness  and  diffidence,  which,  how- 
ever, only  made  her  the  more  sweet  and  winning.  For 
her  remarks  were  distinctly  good,  her  questions  to  the 
point. 

But  May  was  just  May! — always  charming,  and 
brimming  over  with  life  and  excitement. 

Though  the  two  men  were  eager  to  be  alone  together, 
they  would  not  show  themselves  impatient  or  break  up 
the  pleasant  party.  In  the  drawing-room  the  girls  sang 
and  played,  and  it  was  not  till  quite  late  in  the  evening, 
and  Gwenny  and  May  had  said  good-night,  that  the  two 
friends  found  themselves  together  in  the  study. 

The  windows  were  open,  and  the  summer  air  flowed 
in  softly.  Hubert  sank  into  a  deep  arm-chair  with  a 
languor  as  of  everlasting  fatigue.  Preston  stood  gazing 
a  moment  or  two  across  the  grey  lawn  and  the  shadowy 
masses  of  wood  and  thicket.  Then  he  turned  again  into 
the  light  and  looked  Hubert  in  the  face. 

"  Well,  there  you  are,  old  fellow,  comfortably  at 
anchor  in  your  old  tub  of  an  arm-chair."  He  took  a 
restless  turn  or  two  round  the  room,  as  if  in  significant 
contrast. 

"  Yes,  it  does  feel  pretty  comfortable,"  admitted  Hu- 
bert ;  "  and  when  one's  at  anchor,  time  speeds  astonish- 
ingly. Yet  the  old  days  seem  very  far  off.  When  I 
look  back  my  former  self  seems  the  veriest  shadow.  But 
perhaps  I  was  a  shadow  then ! " 

"  My  old  self,"  said  Preston,  "  rather  amuses  me. 
Looking  back,  I  can  see  it  going  its  way  and  playing 
its  antics  as  if  it  were  entirely  an  external  person;  as 
if  it  hadn't  the  faintest  connection  with  the  present  '  me.' 
But  confound  my  '  me ' — that  still  has  the  sturdy  back- 
bone of  an  income  to  support  its  insolent  pretensions. 
There's  many  a  better  man  than  I  will  be  waiting  ere 
the  morrow's  dawn  outside  the  dock-gates — only  to  be 


220  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

disappointed  of  a  job.  Well,  well,  but  I  want  to  hear 
how  your  ego  has  been  faring,  what  sort  of  a  backbone 
it  has  been  acquiring,  and,  of  course,  everything  else 
about  it  as  well  as  the  state  of  its  bones.  I  suppose  you 
are  still  a  democrat." 

"  I  hope  so,"  returned  Hubert,  smiling ;  "  though  I 
must  confess  I  have  long  forfeited  my  claim  to  rank 
among  the  fighters.  I  fear  I  have  passed  entirely  into 
the  obscurity  of  a  quiet,  large  practice,  and  all  my 
controversial  energy  has  been  absorbed  at  the  same 
time." 

"  Yet  I  imagine  you  are  the  same  old  Hubert  in  spite 
of  everything !  " 

Hubert  mused  a  little.  "  I  have  changed  more  than 
you  would  think." 

"  You  have  turned  to  religion ! "  Preston  hazarded 
quickly.  He  could  not  help  remembering  May's  ac- 
count of  Hubert's  church-going. 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence.  "  Well,  in  a  way," 
said  Hubert  reflectively  at  length. 

"  You  had  always  a  touch  of  the  mystic  about  you. 
At  one  time  I  thought  it  possible  you  might  end  in  a 
cloister.  Still  your  experience  is  by  no  means  excep- 
tional. The  priest  who  knows  his  business  knows  he  has 
only  to  smile  and  bide  his  time." 

"  I  have  not  yet  told  you  about  my  poor  mother." 
Hubert  bowed  his  head. 

"  I  have  heard,"  said  Preston  huskily. 

"  It  was  her  death  that  changed  me,  that  wrought  in 
me  such  refinements  of  softening  as  I  had  never  before 
conceived.  I  need  not  dwell  now  on  the  cloud  that 
descended  on  me  and  mine.  Anyhow,  it  was  then  that 
I  began  to  reconsider  the  question  of  a  future  life.  But 
when  I  say  '  reconsider '  I  use  the  wrong  word.  Pre- 
viously, as  you  know,  I  occupied  a  purely  agnostic  posi- 
tion, keeping  a  perfectly  open  mind." 

"  You  took  up  a  comfortable  seat  at  the  fulcrum," 


THE  BENEDICT 

interposed  Preston,  "  leaving  faith  and  scepticism  to 
swing  each  other  up  and  down." 

"  It  was  a  slippery  seat  all  the  same,"  said  Hubert, 
smiling.  "  Well,  after  my  poor  mother's  death,  I  simply 
found  myself  so  possessed  by  spiritual  feeling  that  it 
seemed  as  if  I  had  been  stupidly  blind  all  my  life." 

"  I  feel  myself  defrauded  of  a  most  subtle  and  joyous 
sensation,"  exclaimed  Preston.  "  I'd  give  a  year  of  my 
life  to  be  a  priest  now  for  five  minutes  in  order  to  gloat 
over  this  confession  of  yours.  What  waste!  What 
waste ! " 

"  Let  me  give  you  some  kiimmell  instead,"  suggested 
Hubert,  as  bottles  and  glasses  gleaming  from  a  distant 
side-table,  caught  his  eye  just  then. 

"  More  confession  first,  please." 

"  There's  very  little  more  to  tell.  As  you  yourself 
practically  observed  just  now,  my  old  self  was  never 
entirely  incompatible  with  the  new.  Indeed,  there  was 
scarcely  a  breach  of  continuity.  As  you  know,  I  was 
always  perfectly  tolerant.  In  that  respect  I  am  glad 
to  say  I  have  not  changed  in  the  least.  I  always  said 
the  girls  should  be  free  to  follow  their  own  inspiration, 
and  it  is  my  intention  to  maintain  that  attitude.  I  sin- 
cerely think  it  the  best — one  always  values  what  one  has 
chosen  for  oneself.  But,  in  any  case,  I  should  never 
have  thought  of  making  a  sudden  autocratic  descent 
upon  them  and  forcing  them  into  one  path.  As  it  is,  I 
have  the  greatest  confidence  in  them.  By  the  way,  I 
hope  you  think  as  much  of  them  as  I  do." 

"  They've  converted  me  to  that  quaint  mid-century 
theory  of  the  origin  of  life — that  it  was  bottled  sun- 
shine." 

Hubert's  face  lit  up  with  pride  and  pleasure.  "  They 
have  been  a  great  happiness  to  me.  I  want  to  talk  to 
you  intimately  about  everything,  and  I  want  to  hear  you 
speak  freely.  Tell  me  frankly  your  impression  of  my 
household." 


ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

The  question  caught  Preston  unprepared,  and  he  did 
not  answer  immediately. 

"  Come,  old  fellow,  don't  shirk  it,"  Hubert  admonished 
him. 

"  I  do  shirk  it,"  said  Preston.  "  When  a  man  marries 
he  necessarily  shuts  out  even  his  best  friend  from  a  large 
part  of  his  life.  You  forget  that,  Hubert.  As  for 
myself,  I  come,  I  see,  and  I  go.  My  affection  is  not  less 
than  of  yore,  but  still  there  is  certain  ground  I  cannot 
possibly  intrude  upon  in  conversation — even  at  your 
invitation.  Of  course  I  might  very  easily  say  that  your 
household  is  perfectly  charming,  and  I  should  be  speak- 
ing the  exact  truth.  But,  to  say  the  least,  that  would 
be  somewhat  superficial." 

"  You  are  afraid  of  hurting  me  by  criticism,"  said 
Hubert.  "  You  think  I  have  settled  down  in  a  common- 
place way.  I  understand  your  hesitation.  I  readily 
admit  that  our  home  here  is  what  chiefly  occupies  my 
mind  at  present,  but  then  my  responsibility  for  the 
others  is  for  me  just  now  the  most  important  thing  in 
the  world.  After  all  one's  energies  are  limited.  One  has 
to  choose  in  life — and — one  chooses !  Once  upon  a  time, 
as  you  know,  I  had  altruistic  ambitions,  hopes  that  I 
might  be  able  to  do  something  for  the  good  of  my  fel- 
lows; if  not  directly  by  humanitarian  work,  at  least 
indirectly  by  writings  and  political  work.  But  the  sea 
of  life  is  so  vast,  and  the  day  comes  when  it  dawns  upon 
one  somewhat  rudely  that  one's  strength  is  not  equal 
to  the  demands  one  would  make  upon  it.  I  draft  and 
study  documents,  and  write  out  opinions  all  day  long, 
and  not  infrequently  all  night  too.  I  did  sit  for  some 
years  on  a  committee  or  two,  and  even  took  classes  in 
Bethnal  Green  and  other  districts.  But  Constance  used 
not  to  like  it — or  rather  she  used  to  hate  it.  She  used 
to  fret  about  my  having  to  stop  in  town  after  my  day's 
work  and  my  having  to  go  down  to  Shadwell  or  Lime- 
house,  as  the  case  might  be,  and  only  catching  the  last 


THE  BENEDICT  223 

train  home  and  arriving  near  midnight.  She  always 
cherished  the  belief  that  I  went  without  dining,  and  then 
she  was  sure  I'd  one  day  catch  small-pox  or  fever  or  the 
Lord  knows  what  horrible  disease.  So  at  last  I  had  to 
give  up  all  that  sort  of  thing.  So  you  see  how  one  drifts 
into  looking  back  with  a  sigh  on  one's  past  aspirations 
and  finding  what  consolation  one  may  in  giving  one's 
mite.  Why,  I  cannot  even  manage  to  read  near  as  much 
now  as  I  should  like.  Strangely  enough,  whenever  I 
do  manage  to  get  through  a  book  now-adays,  however 
much  I  may  have  been  interested,  it  has  a  way  of  com- 
pletely fading  from  my  mind  after  a  few  days,  for  all 
the  world  just  as  if  it  were  a  brief  which  I  had  disposed 
of  in  due  course.  But  to  return  to  my  question.  I  have 
always  been  looking  forward  to  your  taking  a  sort  of 
brotherly  interest  in  us  all,  and  I  confess  I  did  not  fore- 
see your  reluctance  to  speak  out.  You  know  I  was 
always  given  to  looking  life  in  the  face,  and  I  assure 
you  I  have  not  yet  learnt  to  flinch.  My  wife,  whom 
you  scarcely  know  yet,  is,  in  this  respect,  even  more  cour- 
ageous than  I.  She  is  highly  gifted,  and  she  is  one 
of  those  rare  women  to  whom  one  may  talk  without  cir- 
cumspection. So  we  shall  both  be  only  too  grateful  to 
hear  exactly  what  you  think." 

Preston  had  followed  him  with  a  slight  smile  on  his 
face,  nodding  every  now  and  again  in  sympathetic 
comprehension. 

"  I'll  confine  myself  to  one  point  at  present,"  he  con- 
tented himself  with  remarking ;  "  and  that  is — the 
worldly  aspect  of  your  affairs.  I  fear  you  may  be  over- 
driven— you  who  have  only  your  health  and  work  to 
rely  upon." 

"  Ah,  well,  no  doubt  the  expenses  of  a  household  have 
a  rising  tendency,"  admitted  Hubert.  "  But  Constance 
is  the  most  careful  person  in  the  world.  In  fact  she 
economizes  to  excess.  She  would  spare  herself  no  pains 
to  save  a  shilling.  The  girls,  perhaps,  do  not  realize 


ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

how  much  she  sacrifices  for  them — they  are  so  used  to 
having  things  made  easy  for  them.  But  then  that  is 
the  privilege  of  childhood.  My  marriage  has  been  a 
great  success,  greater  than  I  had  ever  looked  forward  to. 
Constance  has  smoothed  things  for  me  immensely." 

"  I  should  say  she  has  been  finding  that  an  extremely 
agreeable  process,"  smiled  Preston.  "  She  certainly 
struck  me  as  perfectly  happy.  She  is  of  a  social  dis- 
position? " 

"  I  have  yet  to  tell  you  about  her,"  returned  Hubert. 
"  Constance  never  had  a  home — at  least  in  the  real  sense. 
That  is  why  she  loves  domesticity  and  a  large  circle  of 
friends.  She  has  been  so  starved  of  these  things  that 
she  lives  for  them  now." 

At  this  point  Hubert  naturally  slid  into  relating  the 
history  of  his  marriage — with  a  smiling  reference,  of 
course,  to  the  accidental  part  Preston  had  taken  in  its 
promotion.  Preston's  surprise  at  the  revelation  had  al- 
ready been  discounted  to  some  extent,  but  he  certainly 
confessed  he  would  never  of  himself  have  succeeded  in 
identifying  his  friend's  wife  with  the  actress  Hubert  had 
occasionally  gone  to  visit,  and  whose  marriage,  more- 
over, Hubert  had  at  the  time  distinctly  mentioned  to  him. 
Still  he  listened  with  his  usual  impassiveness,  speaking 
only  when  appealed  to.  In  the  course  of  his  recital 
Hubert  exhibited  much  emotion  and  occasionally  was  so 
shaken  that  he  was  forced  to  pause  for  awhile.  He  was 
as  touchingly  anxious  to  enlist  Preston's  sympathy  for 
Constance's  hard  case  as  he  was  to  gain  his  approval 
for  the  marriage  itself.  But  he  was  most  shaken  of  all 
when  he  went  on  to  tell  of  the  imperious  opposition  his 
mother  had  displayed  on  his  writing  to  her  to  announce 
the  engagement.  Impelled  by  an  almost  desperate  sense 
of  threatened  social  degradation,  she  had  immediately 
employed  an  inquiry  agent  to  rake  up  poor  Constance's 
antecedents.  Armed  with  the  agent's  report,  she  had 
burst  in  on  him  at  the  Temple,  where  she  fortunately 


THE  BENEDICT  225 

happened  to  find  him  alone,  and  the  scene  that  followed 
he  would  always  remember  as  the  most  shattering  he 
had  ever  experienced.  Briefly,  she  had  insisted  on  re- 
garding Constance  as  a  wilfully  disreputable  person 
who  had  disgraced  herself  and  her  family,  and  she  had 
got  the  idea  into  her  head  that  the  poor  girl  would  be 
only  too  delighted  to  be  bought  off  for  a  few  hundred 
pounds,  which  she  desired  to  supply  from  her  own  purse 
— however  much  she  might  have  to  stint  herself  for  the 
rest  of  her  life.  He  had  in  vain  maintained  that  he 
was  about  to  marry  a  good  and  irreproachable  woman, 
who  had  been  cruelly  victimized;  Mrs.  Ruthven  took 
such  a  view  as  a  proof  that  he  had  been  cunningly 
blinded.  Argue  as  he  might,  they  had  remained  in 
hopeless  conflict,  and  he  should  remember  to  his  dying 
day  every  word  that  had  passed  between  them.  After 
her  first  onslaught  had  spent  itself  she  had  remained  for 
a  time  in  silent  misery,  but  that  had  been  the  merest  lull 
in  the  storm. 

"  I  don't  really  believe  you're  going  to  do  this,"  she 
had  recommenced  tremblingly.  "  It  is  too  horrible  to 
be  true." 

Then  had  followed  a  pretty  altercation,  ultimately 
devoid  of  diplomacy  on  both  sides;  Mrs.  Ruthven  con- 
stantly assuming  that  the  social  ideals  in  the  light  of 
which  this  engagement  appeared  to  her  an  outrage  were 
fully  accepted  by  him,  he  as  constantly  disclaiming  them, 
declaring  that  in  any  case  they  could  not  be  applied 
indiscriminately.  But  his  efforts  had  proved  to  no 
purpose.  Never  for  a  moment  had  she  seemed  at  a  loss 
to  continue  the  struggle,  in  the  calmer  intervals  of  which 
she  had  kept  recurring  to  the  notion  that  Constance 
was  to  be  bought  off  for  a  moderate  amount  of  money, 
and  always  with  a  nai've  unshakable  confidence  in  the 
success  of  such  a  measure.  It  had  been  more  than  her 
dominant  idea;  it  had  represented  the  solid  and  in- 
fallible resource  on  which  her  hopes  rested.  She  had  at 


226  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

length  offered  to  go  to  a  thousand  pounds,  if  necessary 
— she  would  gladly  endure  every  consequent  privation, 
even  if  she  had  to  go  without  a  rag  to  her  back  and 
scrub  her  own  floors  for  the  rest  of  her  life. 

"  Come,  mother  let  us  make  an  end  of  this  painful 
discussion,"  he  had  at  last  been  driven  to  demand.  "  It 
is  quite  clear  we  shall  never  be  of  the  same  mind  about 
Miss  Powers.  I  desire  this  marriage,  I  am  pledged  to 
it,  and  I  mean  to  carry  out  my  engagement." 

Whereupon  she  had  come  to  him  and  thrown  her 
arms  round  him  in  a  last  frenzied  burst  of  entreaty. 

"  I  have  been  a  good  mother  to  you  all  your  life," 
she  had  sobbed,  "  and  I  am  a  good  mother  to  you  now.  I 
would  give  all  I  possess,  my  life  itself,  to  save  you  from 
this.  I  have  not  a  thought  for  myself,  only  for  the 
future  of  my  poor  boy.  My  own  life  is  nothing  to  me ; 
I  care  only  for  your  life — to  see  you  happy.  If  you 
marry  that  creature,  it  will  kill  me." 

"  When  you  know  her,  you  will  care  for  her  as  much 
as  I  do." 

(  "  God  forbid  she  should  have  the  honour  of  counting 
me  among  her  acquaintances." 

"  If  you'd  only  put  a  good  face  on  the  matter — since 
it  has  to  be — you'd  soon  be  convinced  how  splendidly 
everything's  going  to  turn  out." 

"  Put  a  good  face  on  the  matter !  "  She  had  let  him 
go  free  at  last,  had  even  pushed  him  away.  "  No !  I  set 
my  face  against  it  altogether.  I  had  hoped  and  dreamed 
for  you  otherwise — for  all  my  hopes  and  dreams  were 
for  you.  I  repeat  you  will  kill  me  if  you  marry  that 
creature.  I  am  an  old  woman  now,  and  I  am  not  so 
strong  as  I  look.  I  am  all  broken.  Pride  holds  me. 
Break  my  pride  and  you  break  me." 

He  had  listened  in  torture,  only  too  conscious  of  her 
terrible  sincerity.  And  now  she  had  suddenly  caught 
him  in  her  arms  again,  beseeching  him  piteously,  kissing 


THE  BENEDICT  227 

him  tumultuously,  and  sobbing  over  him  with  breaking 
heart. 

"  Calm  yourself,  mother,  for  heaven's  sake.  Things 
are  not  what  they  appear  to  you,  believe  me." 

But  she  had  expended  her  last  reserve  of  energy. 

"  Then  you  are  still  set  on  casting  off  your  mother 
for  the  sake  of  a  wanton !  "  she  had  exclaimed,  checking 
her  tears  and  drawing  herself  up  sternly. 

"  It  is  unjust  of  you  to  put  it  that  way." 

"  You  don't  deny  it,  you  don't  deny  it,"  she  had  ex- 
claimed. "  You  can't  deny  it !  I  have  humiliated  myself 
before  you  quite  enough.  Marry  your  wanton  then,  if 
you  must  have  her.  But  remember,  you  are  no  longer  a 
son  of  mine.  I  wish  never  to  see  your  face  again.  One 
day  you  will  think  more  tenderly  of  your  mother  as  she 
sleeps  in  her  grave,  but  then  it  will  be  too  late.  I  shall 
pass  my  few  remaining  days  in  the  same  solitude  that 
has  always  been  my  lot."  And  with  that  she  had  stridden 
out  of  the  room. 

Hubert  drew  a  long  breath.  Preston  saw  that  even 
now  he  was  trembling  with  the  emotion  of  the  scene 
through  which  he  had  just  lived  again. 

"  Even  giving  you  our  very  words,  I  have  not  been 
able  to  revive  before  you  more  than  the  ghostliest  echo 
of  the  actual  storm,"  he  resumed  presently.  "  It  is  a 
wonder  I  did  not  shoot  myself  in  the  first  fit  of  despair. 
Afterwards  my  source  of  strength  was  in  the  feeling 
that  my  conscience  was  absolutely  clear." 

In  spite  of  which  conviction  Hubert  looked  exceed- 
ingly relieved  when  Preston  likewise  declared  he  had 
nothing  to  reproach  himself  with.  Evidently  he  at- 
tached the  greatest  importance  to  this  corroboration  of 
his  own  judgment.  Preston,  desiring  now  to  lead  his 
friend's  mind  gently  into  less  gloomy  fields  of  reflec- 
tion, guilefully  proceeded  to  point  out  that  the  rupture 
between  his  mother  and  himself  was  to  some  extent 


228  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

balanced  by  the  attendant  reconciliation  between  Con- 
stance and  her  family.  The  stratagem  was  effective,  for 
Hubert  at  once  took  up  the  theme,  gleefully  dwelling  on 
the  pride  with  which  the  Powers  now  regarded  their 
former  scapegrace.  Constance  had,  in  fact,  become  an 
immense  personage  in  her  family,  especially  since  she 
had  married  off  one  of  her  younger  sisters  to  an  excellent 
young  neighbour  of  theirs. 

"  Constance  has  quite  a  talent  for  match-making,"  he 
added,  smiling.  "  She  has  remarkable  skill.  She  plays 
destiny  without  for  a  moment  impairing  her  subjects' 
faith  in  free-will. 

"  A  heavenly  amusement,"  exclaimed  Preston. 

Recurring  for  a  moment  to  his  mother's  death,  Hu- 
bert went  on  to  tell  how  he  had  been  dumbfounded  at 
learning  the  extent  of  the  property  she  had  managed  to 
accumulate.  He  had  always  taken  it  for  granted  that 
she  had  only  just  enough  to  live  upon  in  a  quiet  way, 
but  she  had  evidently  been  saving  for  many  years  and 
must  have  invested  her  money  with  the  greatest  shrewd- 
ness. Then,  of  himself  dismissing  the  subject,  Hubert 
went  on  to  speak  of  the  children — their  growth  and 
promise.  He  had  saved  up  many  mementos  of  their 
childhood — bits  of  needlework,  crude  attempts  at  draw- 
ing and  colouring,  (including  various  comic  efforts), 
and  old  copybooks  exhibiting  the  state  of  their  knowl- 
edge in  its  earlier  stages;  all  of  which  he  brought  out 
and  displayed  to  Preston  with  an  eager  pride  and  in- 
terest. Nor  were  their  more  recent  stages  neglected,  for 
Hubert  was  able  to  lay  his  hand  on  a  batch  of  their 
latest  compositions,  which  he  read  out  with  avidity. 
Preston  certainly  derived  from  them  a  great  deal  of 
amusement,  and  was  especially  tickled  by  the  profuse 
high-minded  morality  with  which  May  stuffed  her  sen- 
tences, whether  criticising  the  character  of  some  me- 
diaeval monarch  and  the  manners  of  his  times,  or  en- 
larging to  her  heart's  content  on  the  ideals  of  a  noble  life. 


THE  BENEDICT  229 

"  The  little  puss  thinks  I  like  the  sort  of  thing,  so  she 
lays  it  on  thick,"  chuckled  Hubert.  "  However,  you 
will  gather  from  some  of  these  the  sort  of  ideas  I  en- 
deavour to  put  into  their  heads  in  our  informal  little 
talks  together.  I  always  insist  on  simplicity  of  existence, 
combined  with  personal  dignity  and  high  culture.  '  Be 
fit  for  any  sphere,'  I  am  constantly  telling  them ;  '  but 
know  how  to  be  happy  in  a  sphere  of  your  own,  which 
will  be  just  as  fine  or  as  ignoble  as  you  make  it.'  I 
dream  of  their  being  content  to  marry  men  such  as  I 
myself  was — you  understand,  of  course,  what  I  mean. 
A  cultivated  man,  working  for  his  bread,  is  only  wel- 
come in  the  world  as  a  sort  of  theatrical  supernumerary, 
to  help  to  fill  up  the  background  reputably — at  least  that 
is  what  I  learnt  in  my  younger  days." 

Preston  preferred  to  remain  silent.  From  what  he 
had  seen  of  May  he  doubted  very  much  whether  the 
society  supernumerary  (worker  or  no  worker)  was  likely 
to  be  the  sort  of  husband  to  her  taste. 

"  I  suppose  you'll  be  taking  a  house  in  town  some 
day — I  mean  in  a  few  years  time."  Preston's  train  of 
thought  went  forward,  and  the  words  slipped  from  his 
lips  in  spite  of  himself. 

"  Such  future  details  I  have  scarcely  considered  yet, 
though  I  dare  say  the  girls  will  be  getting  a  little  bit 
tired  of  the  country  by  then,  or  at  any  rate  will  be 
feeling  the  need  of  a  change.  The  only  thing  I  have 
really  made  up  my  mind  about  is  their  going  abroad  for 
a  year  or  two  later  on,  though,  of  course,  I  should  only 
be  able  to  join  them  myself  for  the  briefest  of  inter- 
vals. I  want  them  to  know  the  world  and  to  see  every- 
thing, but  I  am  sure  they  have  too  much  good  sense 
ever  to  get  spoiled.  As  you  know,  my  policy  is  to  leave 
them  the  widest  freedom.  I  believe  in  freedom.  Let 
them  get  their  own  impressions  and  feel  and  think  for 
themselves.  At  the  same  time,  of  course,  they  must  not 
neglect  to  hear  what  other  people  think." 


230  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

Preston  again  refrained  from  making  any  comment. 
As  he  had  said  before  there  were  regions  where  the  best 
of  friends  might  not  intrude,  especially  with  a  mind  to 
meddle.  Besides,  who  could  stem  the  flood  of  life? 

"  And  then  there's  our  old  friend,  Lady  Wycliffe," 
went  on  Hubert.  "  She  has  never  ceased  to  take  the 
greatest  interest  in  my  household.  She  has  been  un- 
affectedly charming  all  along — though  she,  too,  has  had 
trouble.  Ah,  you  have  already  heard.  The  loss  of  her 
husband  was  a  terrible  blow  to  her.  Since  then  we  have 
been  greater  friends  than  before — though  it  is  true  we 
sometimes  lose  sight  of  each  other  for  months  at  a  time. 
But  that  has  no  significance.  The  children  have  pres- 
ents from  her  regularly  on  their  birthdays,  and  she 
never  fails  to  send  for  them  when  in  the  neighbourhood. 
She  perfectly  understands  my  view  of  their  future,  and 
she  entirely  endorses  it.  I  am  sure  she  will  always  be 
a  good  friend  and  adviser  to  them." 

"  But  her  sphere — her  set  and  circle  I  mean — is  not 
what  you  have  in  mind  for  them,"  Preston  could  not 
help  suggesting,  though  he  almost  repented  it  the  next 
instant. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  wish  them  to  be  absorbed  into  her 
sphere — certainly  not,"  said  Hubert.  "  Nor  is  there 
any  likelihood  of  such  a  thing.  They  will  simply  know 
her  in  a  quiet  and  intimate  way.  I  would  not  have  such 
a  true  friendship  lost.  Besides,  since  her  husband's 
death,  Lady  Wycliffe  has  given  up  entertaining,  and 
she  rarely  goes  into  society.  She  lives  in  seclusion  and 
is  devoted  to  her  charities.  .  .  .  But  let  us  go  down 
into  the  garden.  The  air  is  warm  and  full  of  perfume, 
and  the  stars  are  out  in  multitudes." 

They  went  down-stairs,  and  Constance  met  them  in 
the  hall  to  say  "  good-night."  Then,  happy  in  the  re- 
newal of  friendship,  they  paced  to  and  fro  on  the  lawn 
in  the  perfect  night,  seeking,  finding,  renewing  the  old 
trains  of  thought,  the  old  discussions,  in  the  new  light 


THE  BENEDICT  231 

of  the  riper  and  the  richer  years.  Memories,  fantasies, 
and  audacities,  half -suggestions  quickly  taken  up,  shades 
of  soul-expression  knit  in  with  the  old  bond  and  signifi- 
cant to  them  alone,  confirmed  that  there  had  been  no 
loosening,  and  now  and  again  other  lives  with  which 
their  own  had  been  associated  in  good-will  or  friendship 
mingled  in  their  reunion. 


Book  V 

The  Husband 


PRESTON  peered  into  the  dim  shop  but  saw  only 
the  bookseller  himself  busy  over  his  accounts.  A 
big  sunbeam,  striking  slantwise  through  a  gap  in 
the  close-packed  window,  revealed  so  dust-laden 
an  atmosphere  that  Preston  rejoiced  Hubert  was  not 
there  to  inhale  it.  Yet  he  was  himself  tempted  to  enter 
and  to  glance  along  one  or  two  of  the  shelves.  A  sort 
of  archway  divided  the  shop  in  the  middle,  and  as,  taking 
down  a  volume  here  and  there,  he  gradually  worked  his 
way  towards  it,  he  fancied  he  heard  vague  shufflings  and 
movements  in  the  vision  beyond.  Suddenly  there  was 
a  strange  premonitory  noise;  then  followed  immediately 
the  crash  of  a  veritable  avalanche.  The  bookseller  came 
rushing  forward. 

The  actual  catastrophe  was,  however,  less  alarming 
than  its  mode  of  announcing  itself.  Hubert,  browsing 
high  up  on  a  ladder,  had  had  the  misfortune  to  over- 
throw a  gigantic  pile  of  volumes,  and  Preston,  to  his 
amused  astonishment,  found  his  friend  looking  guiltily 
down  at  the  chaos  on  the  floor.  The  region  here  beyond 
the  archway  was  unexpectedly  lofty,  with  a  grimy  top 
light  through  which  the  sunshine  filtered.  Hubert  on  his 
perch  had  been  quite  hidden  from  view. 

Smilingly  reassuring,  the  bookseller  set  to  work  to 
repair  the  mischief.  Hubert,  beating  the  dust  from  his 
hands  and  coat,  came  down  the  ladder  with  a  rueful 
countenance. 

"  I  felt  it  was  going  to  happen,"  he  said.  "  There 
was  a  moment  of  horrible  suspense.  I'm  glad  it's  over." 
They  laughed  as  their  grimy  hands  met.  "  But  what 
are  you  doing  here?  " 

235 


236  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

"  Looking  for  you,  of  course,"  said  Preston ;  "  though, 
for  a  moment,  I  really  thought  you  must  have  found 
your  way  home  after  all." 

"  The  deuce ! "  cried  Hubert,  glancing  at  his  watch, 
"  I've  been  fooling  away  more  than  two  hours.  I  can't 
possibly  be  in  time  for  the  ceremony." 

"  They  were  worrying  about  you  at  lunch,  so  I  hur- 
ried off  to  fetch  you,  making  straight  for  this  new 
temple  of  bargains.  I  was  confident  of  finding  you  at 
your  devotions.  You  see  I  know  my  man." 

Hubert  smiled,  though  really  vexed  with  himself. 
He  had  so  carefully  arranged  to  have  the  afternoon  free 
— since  May  had  insisted  he  must  come  with  them  to 
her  friend's  wedding;  and  now  the  others  must  be  con- 
tent to  pick  him  up  on  their  way  to  the  reception. 

He  settled  with  the  bookseller,  and  presently  the  two 
men  were  being  driven  away  from  the  region  of  the  Law 
Courts,  the  hansom  soon  emerging  into  Oxford-street 
and  going  westward  at  a  brisk  rate.  Preston  confided 
to  Hubert  that  he  had  won  a  bet  by  his  sure  instinct 
as  to  his  whereabouts,  May  being  the  loser.  She  had 
so  impressed  on  Hubert  the  necessity  of  coming  straight 
home  to  lunch  that  she  was  certain  some  unforeseen 
piece  of  business  had  detained  him.  She  had,  therefore, 
not  hesitated  to  enter  on  the  speculation. 

"  I  knew  I  was  bound  to  win,"  chuckled  Preston. 
"  These  clever  people  of  nineteen  do  not  realize  how 
stereotyped  they'll  be  at  forty-seven." 

"  Yes,"  said  Hubert,  musingly.  "  I  am  getting  peril- 
ously near  fifty,  and  I  seem  to  have  flitted  through  all 
those  decades  like  a  shadow.  All  is  vanity." 

He  sighed.  His  face  was  naturally  sad  for  all  its 
sweetness,  his  hair  was  gre3-ing  rapidly,  and  his  forehead 
showed  lines.  There  were  lines,  too,  about  his  mouth — 
severe,  pure,  cloistral;  whilst  his  deep  eyes,  full  of  bril- 
liance, accentuated  the  pallor  that  gave  a  further  mo- 
nastic distinction  to  his  features.  Pie  had  been  growing 


THE  HUSBAND  237 

thinner  of  late,  and  his  long  frock-coat,  seemed  to  sit 
loosely  on  him. 

"  Your  reflections  are  distinctly  unappropriate  en  route 
to  a  wedding,"  suggested  Preston. 

"  You  need  have  no  fears  as  to  the  sort  of  figure  I 
will  cut,"  laughed  Hubert.  "  I  shall  be  careful  to  dis- 
simulate my  sadness.  I  am  not  inexperienced  at  that." 

Preston  looked  thoughtful.  "  Oh,  well,  /  shall  have 
to  try  to  amuse  you — I'll  be  looking  in  at  Rutland  Gate 
myself  later  on." 

u  I  shall  certainly  appreciate  your  attentions.  You 
know  how  these  functions  bore  me.  I  generally  sur- 
render myself  to  the  inward  contemplation." 

"  I  promise  you  that  you  shall  not  go  to  sleep  to-day — 
Avith  such  material  about  to  stimulate  me.  The  most 
pompous  people  in  London  converge  to  the  Roburnes. 
I'm  always  wondering,  by  the  way,  how  it  is  that  that 
May  of  yours,  with  her  intelligence,  chooses  to  be  so 
thick  with  a  family  of  that  kind." 

"  I  know  the  people  only  in  the  most  superficial  way," 
said  Hubert  almost  apologetically.  "  Besides,  May  and 
her  friendships  have  long  since  passed  out  of  my  little 
personal  horizon,"  he  added  with  a  laugh. 

"  Lady  Wycliffe  remains  the  same  undiscriminating 
enthusiast  as  ever.  Fancy  two  such  pets  as  May  Ruth- 
ven  and  Lady  Florence !  " 

"  She  is  responsible,  I  should  say,  for  most  of  May's 
friendships,"  said  Hubert  smilingly ;  "  but,  as  you  know, 
I  leave  May  perfectly  free." 

Preston  laughed,  observing  that  there  was  hardly  any 
alternative  policy.  He  was  certain  he  should  never 
have  the  pluck  to  try  to  influence  her,  even  though  they 
were  terrific  friends,  and  he  ranked  among  the  few 
people  who  were  not  her  inferiors. 

Hubert  made  some  indulgent  remark  about  high- 
spirited  youth. 

"  Sometimes  it  wants  diluting  down  a  bit,"  suggested 


238  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

Preston.  "  And  there's  the  brother,  young  Arthur 
Roburne — Skeffington's  personal  secretary — the  very 
part  he's  cut  out  for!  The  youngster  has  ambitions, 
but  I  fancy  he'll  end  pretty  much  as  he  began,  and,  at 
the  most,  look  back  on  a  creditable  career  of  under- 
secretaryship.  The  old  earl,  however  popular  he  may 
be,  has  at  least  character,  but  the  son  represents  a  woeful 
degeneration.  The  prig  has  the  assurance  to  put  on  his 
airs  with  me.  You  know  the  sort  of  young  man — the 
chilly  omniscient  person  who  talks  the  stock  political 
platitudes  in  the  longest  words." 

Hubert's  thoughts  travelled  back  very  far.  He  had 
a  vision  of  a  shy  lad,  fresh  from  Eton,  holding  forth  to 
Preston  blushingly,  yet  with  evident  self-satisfaction. 
He  had  never  supposed  then  that  this  boy's  sister  was 
destined  to  become  May's  bosom  friend,  and  that  he 
himself  should  one  day  be  bidden  to  her  wedding.  But 
then  life  was  full  of  these  amusing  irrelevant  develop- 
ments ! 

"  One  of  the  most  proper  young  men  Balliol  ever 
turned  out !  "  pursued  Preston.  "  But  time  enough  for 
me  to  be  spiteful  afterwards.  Your  folk  were  all  fear- 
fully excited  about  the  wedding.  Here  we  are  at  Oxford 
Circus.  See  you  later  then.  Au  revoir! 

Preston  jumped  off.  The  hansom  turned  up  Portland 
Place,  and  a  minute  later  Hubert  stood  on  his  own  door- 
step. 

The  house  was  a  great  corner  one,  as  plain  and  dull 
externally  as  its  neighbours  all  about.  As  Hubert 
turned  the  latch  and  stepped  into  the  hall,  a  listlessness 
came  over  him.  Besides  engaging  himself  to  accompany 
the  others  to  the  Roburne  wedding,  he  had  promised  to 
join  in  one  or  two  calls  afterwards,  but  he  felt  no  pleas- 
ure at  the  afternoon's  prospect.  The  occupations  that 
afforded  them  so  much  happiness  had  little  savour  for 
him,  did  not  even  interest  him.  This  fashionable  resi- 
dence, which  another  might  have  regarded  with  unctuous 


THE  HUSBAND  239 

self-satisfaction  as  the  symbol  of  a  successful  career, 
was  merely  a  constant  reminder  to  Hubert  that  all  his 
old  ideals  of  life  had  somehow  miscarried ! 

It  was  their  second  season  in  London,  and  the  girls 
were  important  persons  now.  How  swiftly  the  last  half- 
dozen  years  had  sped!  And  as  for  their  settling  in 
town — why  that  seemed  only  the  other  day !  He  re- 
membered well  the  evening  of  May's  first  formal  party, 
how  when  she  had  come  down  ready  dressed  for  depart- 
ure, he  had  meant  to  offer  her  a  little  friendly  counsel. 
But  she  had  made  a  moue.  "  Now,  please,  don't  be  an 
old  parson,  uncle,"  she  had  exclaimed,  kissing  him. 
Then,  sylphlike,  she  had  flashed  away.  He  had  laughed 
in  spite  of  himself,  called  himself  a  solemn  old  fogey. 
Eighteen  months  had  already  gone  since  then,  and  their 
abandoned  house  in  the  country  (which  Hubert  had  been 
tempted  to  buy  shortly  after  his  marriage)  had  stood 
empty  all  the  time.  It  was  one  of  his  few  bad  invest- 
ments, for  never  a  possible  tenant  had  appeared. 

Their  present  mode  of  life  astonished  him  every  time 
he  grasped  it.  And  yet  the  chain  of  events  that  had 
led  up  to  it  was  clear  enough. 

He  had  sent  the  girls  abroad  as  soon  as  they  were  old 
enough  to  travel — with  Constance,  of  course,  to  accom- 
pany them.  As  they  wished  to  become  expert  linguists, 
and  as  there  was  no  urgency  for  them  to  return  to 
England,  their  leisurely  progression  through  the  Conti- 
nent had  extended  over  two  years.  Hubert,  in  view  of  the 
incalculable  benefit  of  this  experience  to  the  girls,  was 
perfectly  content  to  be  left  alone  at  home,  especially 
as  he  was  able  to  join  them,  wherever  they  happened  to 
be,  in  the  intervals  of  the  law  terms — the  many  weeks 
of  the  long  vacation  making  amends  for  the  few  days 
of  the  minor  vacations. 

Their  time,  indeed,  was  well  occupied;  whether  they 
were  making  long  sojourns  at  Paris,  Munich,  Rome,  or 
Florence,  or  alternating  these  wonderful  cities  with 


240  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

Swiss  lakes  and  Provei^al  vineyards  and  Normandy  or- 
chards. May  appeared  to  be  taking  art  seriously,  even 
spending  a  good  deal  of  time  in  the  schools,  and  Gwenny 
did  not  neglect  her  music.  Naturally  they  rummaged  a 
great  deal  for  treasures  and  bargains  in  out-of-the-way 
corners,  sending  home,  too,  many  a  bulky  acquisition. 
And  in  the  summer  they  would  bask  in  the  sunshine  at 
little  sea-side  places,  far  from  the  beaten  track  of  the 
tourist.  Transient  friendships,  that  at  least  left  pleas- 
ant memories,  came  to  them  everywhere,  and  there  were 
always  people  with  whom  to  interchange  mild  hospitali- 
ties and  go  shopping  and  sight-seeing. 

And  when  at  last  they  set  foot  in  England  again,  it 
was  with  a  high  consciousness  of  being  very  different 
persons  from  the  unsophisticated  trio,  who,  landing  at 
Calais  for  the  first  time,  had  interrogated  porters  in 
uncouth  French.  They  found,  in  fact,  they  had  quite 
outgrown  the  old  life. 

And,  indeed,  it  had  soon  become  apparent  that  they 
could  not  settle  down  in  the  old  grooves.  The  girls, 
interested  in  having  the  world  unfold  before  them,  could 
not  suddenly  have  it  shut  out  at  their  age.  Youth,  as 
Hubert  indulgently  reflected,  must  ever  have  something 
in  prospect — especially  youth  that  is  splendidly  buoyant, 
splendidly  beautiful,  and  splendidly  loved.  May's  long- 
ing— for  May,  exuberant  in  desires,  always  took  the 
lead  in  longing — was  now  to  live  in  London;  and 
Constance,  once  the  subject  was  mooted,  made  no  con- 
cealment that  such  a  prospect  was  distinctly  inviting 
to  her.  Even  Gwenny  vibrated  to  the  mysterious  beck- 
oning of  the  capital.  To  occupy  a  house  in  town  seemed 
an  adventure  full  of  romantic  possibilities.  They  wished 
to  feel  London  as  they  had  felt  other  great  capitals, 
with  the  added  zest  of  being  a  real  part  of  the  life  as 
well  as  spectators  of  it. 

As  they  had  already  a  sufficient  nucleus  of  friends 
in  town,  they  would  not  be  entirely  outsiders ;  and 


THE  HUSBAND 

this  nucleus,  moreover,  was  of  an  easily  expansible 
nature. 

But  such  aspects  of  the  idea  were,  of  course,  more 
present  to  the  minds  of  the  returned  wanderers  than  to 
that  of  Hubert,  who  was  busily  engaged  in  overworking 
most  of  the  time,  with  his  books  for  his  sole  distraction. 
He  himself  was  naturally  pained  at  the  idea  of  giving  up 
the  home  in  which  he  had  spent  the  happiest  years  of  his 
life,  for,  in  spite  of  unexpected  luck  of  late  with  some  of 
his  investments,  he  still  could  not  afford  to  maintain  it 
in  addition  to  a  residence  in  London.  He  was  careful, 
however,  not  to  let  his  own  emotions  enter  into  the 
family  councils.  How  could  he  do  otherwise  in  face  of 
their  irrepressible  zest  in  existence ! 

He  gave  his  sanction  without  uneasiness.  He  had 
faith  in  those  he  loved.  So  far  as  he  looked  forward,  it 
was  with  the  hope  that,  if  London  offered  a  wider  field 
of  interests  and  pleasures,  it  would  equally  offer  a 
wider  field  of  inspiration  and  a  wider  appeal  to  their 
sympathies. 

But  once  the  initial  step  had  been  taken,  he  had 
scarcely  been  able  to  influence  the  march  of  events. 
Their  London  friends  had  rallied  round  them,  and  Lady 
Wycliffe  (who,  since  her  husband's  death,  had  occupied 
a  simpler  house  in  Arlington  street)  had  enthusiastically 
taken  them  under  her  special  wing,  and,  in  spite  of  her 
semi-retirement  from  the  world,  she  had  contrived  to 
launch  Constance  and  the  girls  into  a  fashionable  whirl- 
pool before  Hubert  had  fairly  realized  how  matters  were 
shaping  themselves.  When  at  last  he  came  to  ponder 
over  and  to  face  the  facts,  he  began  to  recognize  that  the 
years  of  their  Continental  residence  had  effected  a  gap  in 
his  relations  with  the  others  which  he  had  never  contem- 
plated. Since  their  return  they  had  never  resumed  the 
old  footing.  It  began  to  dawn  upon  him  that  his  mental 
leadership  was  somehow  a  thing  of  the  past.  They 
were  independent  entities,  proud  individualities,  not  only 


ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

generating  their  own  criticism,  but  capable  of  turning  it 
on  him !  Each  now  had  her  secrets,  her  private  corres- 
pondence, her  personal  thoughts  and  emotions.  He  felt 
as  if  a  wall  had  been  built  against  him.  There  was  not 
even  superficially  the  same  intimacy  as  of  old. 

Their  first  house  in  London  had  been  on  a  far  more 
moderate  scale  than  their  present  one,  but  Constance 
had  found  it  unsuitable  for  social  purposes.  And  when, 
ultimately,  her  longing  to  give  a  large  party  was 
thwarted  by  the  smallness  of  her  drawing-room,  she  had 
set  herself  to  scan  the  advertisement  columns  of  The 
Morning  Post,  with  the  result  that,  in  the  winter,  they 
had  shifted  their  quarters  again.  Constance  had  obtained 
this  "  eligible  mansion  "  in  Portland  Place  as  a  special 
bargain,  taking  over  the  remainder  of  a  short  lease  from 
the  estate  of  a  bankrupt  bullion-broker,  and  confidently 
calculating  to  be  able  to  maintain  it  by  clever  manage- 
ment (seeing  they  were  so  small  a  family)  with  only  a 
slight  increase  of  their  normal  expenditure.  Hubert  did 
not  even  go  to  look  at  the  house;  he  needed  only  a 
corner  for  himself,  and  was  content  to  take  possession  of 
that  whenever  it  should  be  allotted  to  him. 

And  so  their  second  season  was  now  in  full  swing. 
Expenditure,  in  spite  of  all  calculations,  had  heavily 
increased.  Hubert  signed  all  cheques  with  an  almost 
mechanical  indifference,  and  resumed  his  unceasing 
labours.  Meanwhile  he  had  been  losing  touch  more  and 
more  with  the  details  of  their  existence.  Their  by  now 
vast  circle  of  friends  were  for  the  most  part  strangers  to 
him,  and  he  neither  knew  nor  saw  what  exactly  they 
were  doing  from  day  to  day.  Constance  was  entirely 
absorbed  in  this  new  life,  and  had  now  at  last  ventured 
to  send  out  cards  for  the  ambitious  party  she  had  long5 
dreamed  of. 


n 

Sj  MESSAGE  awaited  Hubert  that  May  would 
ZJ  return  for  him  after  the  ceremony.  As  he 
^4  M  had  forgotten  to  lunch,  he  was  not  displeased 
at  the  respite.  The  house  at  its  corner  faced 
east  and  north,  so  that  even  at  that  early  hour  the  rooms 
were  already  sunless.  Hubert  had  a  fancy  that,  at  the 
best  of  times,  a  dimness  brooded  over  the  immediate 
locality,  and  he  found  it  particularly  cheerless  now  to  be 
eating  alone  in  the  sombre  dining-room,  through  whose 
ugly  plate-glass  windows,  giving  on  streets  on  two  sides, 
came  a  tarnished  London  light.  There  was  not  even  the 
compensation  of  shady  coolness,  for  the  air  was  close 
and  stifling  everywhere.  He  hurried  from  the  table  as 
soon  as  possible,  and,  by  the  time  he  had  made  himself 
presentable,  was  informed  that  May  was  waiting  for 
him  in  the  drawing-room. 

And  there  he  found  her  standing  in  one  of  the  win- 
dows between  the  green  arras-like  hangings,  and  staring 
at  the  dull  brick  stretch  of  respectable  mansions  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  street.  She  was  all  in  white — 
her  summer  dress  was  of  the  daintiest,  and  her  hat  co- 
quettishly  trimmed  with  roses  and  black  velvet.  Her 
beauty  dazzled  him.  It  seemed  to  him  almost  too  ex- 
quisite for  reality,  and  the  deep  tenderness  with  which 
he  was  stirred  at  the  sight  of  her  had  mingled  in  it 
something  of  the  worship  of  a  lover  in  his  first  flood  of 
romance.  Such  discontent  and  vague  unhappiness  as 
had  been  troubling  him  were  at  once  charmed  away;  it 
seemed  a  great  thing  that  the  world  should  contain  so 
wonderful  and  so  happy  a  creature! 

243 


244  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

He  stole  across  the  great  room  softly,  picking  his  way 
amid  the  Louis  Treize  arm-chairs  covered  with  faded 
brocade,  and  old  cedar  and  tulip-wood  tables  laden  with 
quaint  silver  and  bibelots.  As  he  could  not  take  his  eye 
off  her,  he  was  fortunate  in  getting  over  to  her  without 
misadventure.  And  yet,  despite  all  the  important  bril- 
liance of  her  presence,  she  was  the  same  child  he  had 
taken  away  from  the  northern  suburb  so  many  years 
before,  had  always  been  that  tiny  person.  The  princess 
into  which  she  had  bloomed  was  a  perennial  surprise  for 
him,  and  he  had  often  a  bewildering  double  sense  of  her 
identity.  After  a  period  of  hesitation,  she  had  had  a 
spurt  of  growth,  but  in  the  end  she  had  just  missed 
being  tall.  Hubert  would  not  for  worlds  have  had  a 
single  inch  of  difference — whether  more  or  less — in  her 
height. 

For  some  obscure  reason,  she  seemed  greatly  fasci- 
nated just  then  by  the  row  of  opposite  houses,  and  so  did 
not  hear  Hubert  approaching.  When  at  last  he  called 
her  by  name,  she  turned  with  a  start. 

"  You  must  forgive  my  unpunctuality.  I  feel  very 
guilty,"  he  murmured. 

She  came  close  to  him,  and  putting  her  long  arms 
round  his  neck,  ensnared  his  soul  with  her  wonderful 
smiling  eyes. 

"  On  one  condition — that  you've  not  been  discovered 
at  that  wretched  book-shop." 

"  I'm  sorry,  but  I've  lost  you  your  bet." 

"  Then  I  forgive  you  without  conditions."  Her  voice 
was  sweet  with  reassurance.  She  held  her  eyes  fixed  on 
his  a  moment  longer,  then  suddenly  tiptoed  up  and  gave 
him  the  kiss  her  tantalizing  attitude  had  kept  promising. 
Already  the  afternoon's  prospect  had  become  more  at- 
tractive to  Hubert.  Usually  he  had  to  be  content  to  see 
her  lose  herself  in  the  brilliant  life  that  charmed  her 
away  from  him ;  for  once  he  would  have  her  near  him  for 
a  whole  afternoon! 


THE  HUSBAND  245 

She  reminded  him  that  the  carriage  was  waiting,  so 
they  descended  immediately. 

"  So  I've  lost  my  bet,"  she  sighed,  as  they  drove  off. 
"  Dear  old  father  Preston — I  like  him  so  much !  Only  I 
confess  I'm  a  wee  bit  afraid  of  him.  He's  much  too  deep 
for  a  child  like  me.  He's  perfectly  uncanny  sometimes 
— I  believe  he  knows  exactly  what  is  going  to  happen  to 
every  one  of  us." 

"  It  looks  uncommonly  as  if  he  does — to  judge  by 
to-day's  experience." 

May  considered  for  a  brief  moment,  as  was  her  habit. 

"  I  wonder  why  he  hasn't  married ! "  she  said 
abruptly. 

"  I  should  say  he  is  best  able  to  answer  that  question 
himself." 

"  I  have  tried  to  make  him,  but  no  one  knows  better 
than  he  how  to  avoid  answering.  I  suppose  his  queer 
ideas  have  a  good  deal  to  do  with  it.  I  know  he  has 
queer  ideas,  though  they  only  peep  out  when  it  pleases 
him  to  puzzle  me.  Now,  to  tell  the  truth,  I'm  begin- 
ning to  lose  patience  with  him.  Fancy  allowing  a  set  of 
ideas  to  make  one's  life  miserable — for  I'm  sure  the  poor 
old  thing  is  miserable.  If  I  were  he,  I  should  take  care 
to  get  rid  of  the  ideas  very  soon." 

"  I  don't  think  he'd  give  up  his  ideas — if  that  were  to 
make  him  even  as  happy  as  you,"  said  Hubert.  "  That's 
one  of  his  ideas,  and  an  important  one." 

"  It  would  be  interesting  to  be  in  church  and  watch 
him  being  married,"  smiled  May,  flying  along,  yet  deftly 
evading  the  threatened  subtleties.  "  I  couldn't  help 
imagining  him  in  Major  Bellows'  place  to-day.  Major 
Bellows  was  almost  irritatingly  calm.  But  poor  Flo 
went  through  the  ordeal  rather  badly.  She  burst  into 
tears  at  the  most  solemn  moment,  and  her  aunt  had  to  lift 
up  the  veil  and  dry  her  eyes  for  her.  I  was  so  sorry 
about  it,  but  I  never  should  have  thought  Flo  likely  to 
break  down  in  that  way." 


246  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

And,  once  started  about  the  wedding,  May  had  much 
to  relate  about  the  bride  and  the  bridegroom,  and  the 
two  families  thus  allied.  But  Hubert's  interest  in  these 
apparently  remarkable  people  was  of  the  mildest.  In 
truth  he  was  a  little  disappointed  that  the  ground  of 
their  conversation  should  have  shifted  just  when  it 
had  become  promising.  He  was  confident  the  love  between 
them  was  as  perfect  as  it  had  ever  been;  but,  even  as 
he  listened  to  all  this  superficial  chatter,  he  wondered 
more  and  more  what  were  the  real  workings  of  this  quick 
brain  in  its  more  earnest  moments,  what  were  the  ideas 
she  had  been  forming  for  herself  as  the  result  of  her 
later  experiences. 

Soon,  however,  he  found  himself  listening  with  a  shade 
more  interest  in  the  members  of  the  Roburne  family. 
Close  friends  as  they  were  of  May's,  his  own  acquaint- 
ance with  them  was,  as  he  had  told  Preston,  of  the 
slightest.  But,  in  view  of  his  meeting  them  again,  the 
girl's  talk  was  informing.  The  bride,  who  had  been 
left  motherless  many  years  since,  had  long  been  chaper- 
oned by  her  aunt,  Lady  Farrow,  at  whose  house  in 
Rutland  Gate  the  wedding  presents  were  being  exhibited 
and  the  reception  held.  Arthur  Roburne,  the  younger 
of  Lady  Florence's  brothers,  was,  by  a  family  arrange- 
ment, quartered  with  his  chief  at  Eaton  Square,  whilst 
"  Charlie,"  the  heir,  had  a  taste  for  soldiering,  and  was 
now  in  Egypt.  The  father  had  had  to  come  up  specially 
for  the  wedding,  for  he  seldom  left  his  Yorkshire  home 
now.  Hubert  did  not  suppose  that  the  old  earl  would 
have  the  least  recollection  of  their  meeting  at  the  same 
table  some  dozen  years  back,  but  with  the  son  Arthur 
he  had  already  on  one  or  two  occasions  interchanged  a 
few  words,  as  when,  somewhat  absent-mindedly,  Hubert 
had  wandered  into  the  drawing-room  on  Constance's 
"  at  home  "  day.  May  did  not  seem  at  all  disinclined 
to  talk  about  the  young  man,  who,  Hubert  learned,  had 
of  late  been  spending  a  good  deal  of  his  spare  time  at 


THE  HUSBAND  247 

his  aunt's,  whereas  at  one  time  he  had  rather  avoided 
Rutland  Gate. 

"  Once  upon  a  time,  I  knew  of  his  existence  only  from 
Flo's  talk.  She  used  to  talk  about  him  an  enormous 
deal." 

"  And  now  I  suppose  you  hear  him  at  first  hand  on 
the  same  subject,"  said  Hubert,  with  incautious  gaiety, 
remembering  Preston's  estimate  of  the  Honourable  Ar- 
thur Roburne. 

He  was  surprised  to  see  May  reddening.  Moments  of 
such  confusion  were  rare  with  her. 

"  If  Mr.  Roburne  chooses  to  honour  me  with  his  confi- 
dence, there  is  no  reason  why  I  shouldn't  be  civil  enough 
to  listen.  I  suppose  somebody  has  been  gossiping." 
She  seemed  indignant,  overlooking  that  Hubert  had 
spoken  quite  at  random. 

"  Gossiping !  "  he  echoed.  "  What  a  notion !  I  was 
only  afraid  the  fellow  was  inflicting  himself  on  you." 
He  was  still  thinking  of  the  egotistic  young  man  whom 
Preston  had  painted. 

"  The  fellow  inflict  himself  on  me ! "  May  laughed 
uneasily.  "  Poor  Mr.  Roburne !  " 

"  I  understood  he  was  conceited,"  murmured  Hubert, 
conscious  of  having  got  himself  into  trouble. 

"  Was  there  ever  a  young  man  whom  somebody  or 
other  didn't  think  conceited?  Why,  you  scarcely  know 
Mr.  Roburne.  ...  It  really  isn't  fair  to  make  up 
your  mind  about  anybody  in  that  prejudiced  way!  " 

"  Of  course  it  isn't !  You  make  me  feel  ashamed  of 
myself." 

May  was  silent.  She  seemed  agitated  in  spite  of  her- 
self. Hubert  was  really  sorry  for  his  slight  disparage- 
ment of  Mr.  Arthur  Roburne ;  he  could  not  bear  to  have 
occasioned  her  the  least  vexation,  even  though  unwit- 
tingly. "  How  loyal  she  is  to  her  friends ! "  he  thought 
with  pride. 

But  soon  she  resumed  her  talk  as  unconcernedly  as 


248  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

though  she  had  never  had  a  moment  of  embarrass- 
ment. She  only  stopped  as  they  were  passing  along 
Knightsbridge,  remembering  suddenly  she  had  promised 
Constance  to  call  en  route  on  two  sisters,  who  were  giving 
a  concert  that  evening,  to  which  they  were  all  going, 
and  who,  moreover,  were  to  sing  at  the  Ruthven's  party 
on  the  following  Wednesday. 

She  insisted  on  Hubert's  accompanying  her,  and  led 
him  down  an  unexpected  impasse  at  the  end  of  which 
she  rang  the  bell  of  a  tiny  brick  house.  This  proved  to 
be  a  very  quaint  sort  of  place,  unexpectedly  amusing, 
and,  as  Hubert  ascended  the  stairway,  he  had  the  sensa- 
tion of  at  once  examining  a  doll's  house  through  a  mag- 
nifying-glass,  and  of  exploring  the  interior.  There  was 
just  one  room  on  each  floor,  with  windows  at  the  back 
that  overlooked  the  full  bustle  of  Park  Lane,  and  the 
miniature  drawing-room  into  which  they  were  ushered 
might  have  been  a  virtuoso's  showroom,  so  crowded  was 
it  with  daintily-filled  cabinets,  and  brocade-covered 
chairs,  and  the  sweetest  of  old  china,  and  ancient  musical 
instruments  and  exquisitely  chiselled  candlesticks. 
Presently  the  two  sisters  Godfrey  came  bounding  into 
the  room — wonderful  creatures  with  flaming  gold  hair 
and  dazzlingly  fair  complexions.  They  welcomed  their 
visitors  with  loud  ringing  voices,  expressively  accom- 
panied by  movements  of  very  brilliant  blue  eyes  that 
were  incredibly  enormous.  Despite  all  the  warmth  of 
their  greeting,  their  large,  interesting  features  had  yet 
a  strange  suggestion  of  coldness ;  they  looked,  indeed,  as 
if  they  had  just  leapt  out  of  one  of  those  pictures  in  a 
high  key,  where  the  paint,  despite  all  the  dazzle,  remains 
coldly  unreal. 

Constance's  message  was  soon  delivered,  the  sisters 
offered  tea,  which  was  refused,  and  then  all  spoke  about 
the  wedding — in  which  the  Misses  Godfrey  seemed  ar- 
dently interested,  though  not  acquaintances  of  the  Ro- 
burne  family.  Hubert,  who  naturally  took  little  part  in 


THE  HUSBAND  249 

the  conversation,  sat  waiting  good-humouredly.  How 
full  of  the  joy  of  life  were  all  three  girls!  What  an 
eagerness  for  pleasures  and  happy  experiences  radiated 
from  them! 

Soon  the  visit  had  to  be  cut  short,  and  Hubert  and 
May  continued  their  drive  amid  the  sea  of  smart  equi- 
pages, ultimately  skirting  the  Park  that  lay  green  and 
pleasant  in  the  sunshine,  and  taking  their  place  in  the 
long  procession  of  carriages  that  were  moving  forward 
to  deposit  their  occupants  at  Lady  Farrow's  door- 
step. 

As  they  made  their  way  between  the  rows  of  lackeys 
and  passed  down  the  palm-lined  hall,  a  murmur  of  music 
came  to  them  from  a  distant  conservatory.  The  air  was 
scented  by  great  heaps  of  roses,  whose  profusion  amid 
appropriate  greenery  all  but  succeeded  in  giving  the  con- 
ventional London  interior  something  of  a  romantic  as- 
pect. The  assemblage  in  the  drawing-room,  too,  had 
undoubtedly  its  picturesque  points,  what  with  the  poeti- 
cally veiled  bride,  resplendent  in  white  satin  and  orange- 
blossoms,  the  little  pages  in  mauve  costumes,  and  the 
bridesmaids  with  their  beautiful  bouquets  flitting  about 
everywhere.  Lady  Florence  was  effusively  affectionate 
towards  May,  as  if  eagerly  welcoming  so  legitimate  an 
opportunity  of  occupying  her  attention  naturally. 
Though  she  was  finely  built,  her  features  were  of  a  some- 
what masculine  cast — she  bore  a  curious  resemblance  to 
her  brother — and  she  was  evidently  several  years  older 
than  May  Ruthven.  But  she  had  always  been  a  shy  and 
backward  girl,  and  even  now  was  scarcely  on  May's  level 
of  engaging  self-confidence.  Her  husband,  Major  Bel- 
lows, was  certainly  a  handsome  fellow,  and  he  stood  near 
at  hand  smiling  at  nobody  in  particular. 

Lady  Farrow,  a  plumper  edition  of  her  niece,  looking 
remarkably  fresh  in  her  velvet  gown  though  she  was  well 
over  fifty,  welcomed  Hubert  with  great  amiability,  and 
presently  passed  him  on  to  her  brother,  whom  he  had 


250  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

recognized  at  once  on  entering  the  room.  The  earl  had 
apparently  changed  very  little  since  the  last — and  first 
— time  Hubert  had  seen  him.  His  gnarled  and  stern 
features  were  somewhat  chastened  by  years,  though  they 
now  exhibited  a  set  expression  of  agony.  He  had  al- 
ways been  a  man  of  autocratic  temper,  passionately  im- 
perious, and  had  throughout  life  quarreled  with  his 
colleagues  in  every  capacity  of  public  usefulness  in  which 
he  had  attempted  to  engage.  Living  in  retirement  now, 
he  was  dreaded  by  everybody  about  him,  and  was  grow- 
ing more  and  more  difficult  as  gout  and  rheumatisms 
tormented  his  old  age.  Yet  his  courtesy  to  strangers 
was  proverbial. 

He  eyed  Hubert  searchingly  as  Lady  Farrow  men- 
tioned his  name,  and  retaining  his  hand  for  a  moment 
with  great  cordiality,  presently  recalled  the  fact  of  their 
previous  meeting — to  Hubert's  unconcealed  surprise. 
"  I  never  forget  a  face,"  the  earl  went  on  to  proclaim 
with  an  almost  childish  pride,  and  he  was  ready  with 
many  other  remarkable  instances  of  this  infallible  power 
of  his.  He  spoke  with  a  peculiar  dry  intonation,  gruff, 
yet  not  unpleasant,  articulating  with  his  lips  almost 
closed.  Clearly  he  was  greatly  pleased  with  himself  at 
his  ability  to  astonish  his  listener  repeatedly.  Ultimately, 
under  cover  of  the  amazement  caused  by  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  of  these  mnemonic  achievements,  he  broke  off 
to  welcome  an  ascetic-looking  bishop,  and,  with  an  air  of 
addressing  both,  felicitated  himself  and  them  on  the 
charming  weather  that  had  come  so  suddenly  with  June. 
When  he  had  left  the  country  but  a  fortnight  before  the 
summer  had  been  sadly  behindhand  and  large  roaring 
fires  had  been  the  rule.  In  his  own  lifetime  the  climate 
of  England  had  certainly  been  changing,  for  of  late 
years  the  heat-wave  had  come  upon  them  without  warn- 
ing. 

Presently  Hubert  found  himself  subtly  dismissed,  so  he 
moved  away  and  glanced  round  to  see  what  had  become 


THE  HUSBAND  251 

of  May.  In  a  moment  he  caught  sight  of  her  some 
distance  away  talking  to  three  young  men  of  varying 
types  but  uniform  tailoring ;  yet  nodding  and  bowing  at 
the  same  time  to  other  friends  in  the  crowd.  Constance 
and  Gwenny  were  not  to  be  seen  at  all.  As  Hubert 
knew  absolutely  nobody  here,  he  occupied  himself  watch- 
ing May's  doings,  and  wondering  who  these  men  were 
and  on  what  exact  footing  they  stood  with  her.  Here 
was  she  in  the  very  heart  of  that  life  which  claimed  her 
most  of  the  time,  and,  now  that  he  had  followed  her  for 
once,  he  could  understand  not  a  jot  of  what  was  proceed- 
ing, of  what  were  her  vivid  interests,  her  true  feelings, 
the  degree  of  her  friendship  for  all  these  people.  Finally 
he  began  to  wish  Preston  would  arrive  and  entertain 
him  with  the  promised  malicious  interpretation  of  the 
assembly. 

A  great  many  slow  minutes  went  by.  May  had  flitted 
all  over  the  room  by  now,  and  at  present  was  being 
greeted  by  two  elderly  men  who  looked  as  if  they  might 
be  colonels.  Then,  as  Hubert  turned  his  head  again,  he 
saw  Constance  and  Gwenny  just  entering  the  room  in 
tow  of  Mr.  Arthur  Roburne  himself.  In  thus  averting 
his  eyes  from  the  direction  of  May,  who  caught  sight  of 
the  others  about  the  same  time,  Hubert  failed  to  observe 
the  slight  change  that  came  over  her  face. 

His  attention  was,  however,  again  diverted  just  then, 
for  he  was  suddenly  aware  that  somebody  at  his  side  was 
trying  to  speak  to  him. 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  remember  me,  Mr.  Ruthven ! " 

The  speaker  was  a  very  graceful,  sweet-voiced  woman 
of  about  thirty -five,  whose  good  looks  were  slightly  on 
the  wane,  the  corners  of  her  mouth  having  that  drawn 
appearance  which  is  associated  with  perennial  sadness. 
Hubert,  as  she  had  surmised,  was  quite  at  a  loss  to  recall 
her,  and  found  himself  envying  the  earl  his  memory. 
Despite  her  tolerant  smile  at  his  hesitation,  he  experi- 
enced some  slight  embarrassment,  the  more  so  as  she 


QNE'S  WOMENKIND 

struck  him  immediately  as  a  very  charming  person,  and 
he  felt  he  really  had  met  her  before  somewhere. 

"  We  met  ever  so  long  ago — more  years  than  I  care  to 
think  of,"  she  said,  with  a  flash  of  gaiety  in  her  manner 
that  also  seemed  to  him  strangely  familiar.  "  I  am  Mrs. 
Holbrook — I  used  to  be  Miss  Hardynge  in  those  days." 

It  was  as  if  a  wizard's  wand  had  touched  her.  She 
stood  at  once  transformed  before  him,  and  he  saw  her 
again  as  the  fresh,  sprightly  girl  who  had  been  placed 
beside  him  with — as  had  afterwards  transpired — delight- 
fully futile  intention.  He  had  often  remembered  that 
little  episode  with  a  smile  that  was  sometimes  pitiful, 
sometimes  of  mere  amusement. 

"  Ah,  yes  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  You  had  made  up  your 
mind  to  be  happy,  and  to  let  nothing  throughout  life 
interfere  with  that  determination.  I  have  often  thought 
of  you." 

She  flushed,  then  gave  a  little  laugh.  "  I  was  an  awful 
little  goose.  What  a  number  of  foolish  things  I  must 
have  said  to  you !  But  how  strange  we  should  never 
have  met  since !  " 

"  As  I  explained  to  you  then,  I  do  not  exactly  belong 
to  your  world,"  he  smiled. 

"  I  envy  you,"  she  smiled  back.  "  Still  I  confess  I 
should  have  liked  to  know  you  better — I  remember  how 
I  enjoyed  our  talk  that  evening." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  he  murmured. 

"  I  really  did,"  she  assured  him.  "  Only  I  felt  terribly 
timid,  though,  of  course,  I  pretended  not  to  be.  It's  a 
great  pleasure  to  confess  things  years  afterwards  when 
one  can  afford  to  laugh  at  them."  She  nodded  just  then 
to  some  one  who  had  been  trying  to  catch  her  eye. 
"  I'm  sorry,  but  I  have  to  go  on  now,"  she  added,  with 
an  air  of  affable  conclusion.  She  drew  herself  up,  and 
frigidly  held  the  tips  of  her  fingers  to  him.  "  Good- 
bye!" 

Though  she  was  still  smiling  kindly,  yet,  in  that  mo- 


THE  HUSBAND  253 

ment,  she  seemed  to  relapse  into  a  fashionable  frigidity 
of  demeanour  that  almost  seemed  to  repudiate  the  more 
human  person  who  had  just  been  speaking  to  him. 

"  Good-bye,  Mrs.  Holbrook,"  he  returned.  She 
nodded  again  as  she  moved  away,  and  Hubert  bowed  in 
acknowledgment. 

In  the  meanwhile  Constance  and  Gwenny  had  been 
seized  upon  by  a  couple  of  stately  matrons — who  were 
sisters,  with  comic  obviousness — so  that  Arthur  Roburne 
was  left  free  to  gravitate  to  May.  Like  his  father,  the 
young  man  was  well  set  up,  and  he  had  the  family 
features  in  a  marked  degree.  He  was  of  fair  complex- 
ion with  a  tinge  of  colour  in  his  cheeks,  his  hair  and 
moustache  were  blonde,  and  he  spoke  with  the  least 
touch  of  a  drawl.  He  gave  the  impression  of  energy  well 
under  control,  carrying  his  perfectly-groomed  self  with 
a  certain  decision  of  movement. 

"  I  have  just  been  helping  your  aunt  and  sister  to  see 
the  presents,  Miss  Ruthven,"  he  explained  as  he  greeted 
her,  letting  his  lips  part  in  a  careful  smile.  "  I  believe  I 
have  greatly  distinguished  myself,  and  I  hope  you  will 
give  me  the  chance  of  doing  so  further.* 

May  listened,  as  was  her  usual  way,  with  the  gravest 
of  expressions,  letting  her  large  grey  eyes  rest  on  him  at- 
tentively. She  never  indulged  in  superfluous  movements 
of  her  features :  they  were  best  in  repose,  and  needed  no 
trick  to  show  them  off.  Her  manner,  too,  was  free  from 
decoration.  People  spoke  of  her  "  pretty  ways,"  yet 
would  have  been  perplexed  to  indicate  in  what  these 
"  ways  "  consisted. 

She  thanked  Roburne  for  his  suggestion,  and  took  his 
arm  without  any  hesitation,  giving  a  swift  smile  and  a 
gracious  nod  by  way  of  excuse  to  the  two  elderly  men 
with  whom  she  had  been  more  or  less  in  conversation. 

"  As  you  may  well  believe,  Miss  Ruthven,"  he  resumed, 
as  they  picked  their  way  down-stairs,  "  the  last  fortnight 
has  been  pressing  heavily  on  me.  Skeffington  has  an 


ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

unconscious  way  of  working  a  man  for  all  he's  worth, 
and  the  pressure  of  business  is  as  usual  reflected  at  Eaton 
Square — to  say  nothing  of  the  thousands  of  correspond- 
ents who  are  always  finding  some  excuse  for  writing. 
I've  been  caught,  in  fact,  between  two  tempests.  Skef- 
fington  was  hard  put  to  it  to  manage  without  me  this 
afternoon.  Of  course  he  could  find  plenty  of  mechanical 
substitutes,  but  it's  the  special  knowledge  and  experience 
that  count.  So  I  had  to  promise  him  to  slip  away  imme- 
diately after  dinner,  and  make  an  all-night  sitting 
of  it." 

"  You  are  a  big,  strong  fellow,  so  I'm  not  going  to 
waste  any  sympathy  on  you.  It  would  have  been  too 
hard  on  Flo  not  to  have  had  at  least  one  of  her  brothers 
at  her  wedding." 

"  Yes.  What  with  Charley  away  in  Egypt,  and  Skef- 
fington  nigger-driving  in  that  bland  way  of  his,  Flo  was 
well-nigh  reduced  to  brotherlessness  as — as  well  as  to 
tears." 

"  You  ought  not  to  be  so  unkind."  The  reproach  was 
tempered  by  the  subtle  friendly  modulation  of  her  voice. 

"  I  am  quite  good,"  he  declared.  "  Charlie  would 
have  chaffed  her  unmercifully.  Why,  I've  not  said  a 
word  about  it  in  her  hearing.  Here  we  are,  though. 
What  shall  we  look  at  first  ?  " 

The  room  was  filled,  all  round  its  sides  and  down  the 
centre,  with  a  great  display  of  glittering  objects.  There 
were  few  people  in  the  room  just  at  the  moment,  and 
those  had  almost  the  air  of  visitors  to  a  museum  as  they 
bent  over  the  exhibits  or  read  on  the  affixed  cards  the 
expressions  of  the  overflowing  affection  for  the  newly- 
wedded  couple  of  which  the  gifts  were  merely  trifling 
and  inadequate  symbols.  Roburne  and  May  made  their 
way  across  the  room  and  came  to  a  stand  by  one  of  the 
windows,  attracted  for  an  instant  by  the  cool  foliage  of 
the  far-stretching  Park  without.  Near  them  was  a 
queer-looking,  broad-shouldered  giant,  with  laughing  big 


THE  HUSBAND  255 

flat  features ;  his  head  bald  at  the  top,  but  with  long  hair 
hanging  straight  down  all  round  till  it  curled  up  at  the 
ends,  and  his  back  presenting  an  immense  stretch  of 
broadcloth  with  great  flaps.  He  was  inspecting  a  curi- 
ous old  Brittany  petrin,  evidently  bewildered  as  to  the 
nature  of  the  object,  for  he  was  staring  at  it  and  chuck- 
ling alternately.  In  marked  contrast,  a  few  feet  away 
from  them,  a  beautifully-dressed  couple,  almost  theat- 
rically fashionable-looking,  were  examining  things  with 
cold,  well-bred  aloofness;  the  woman  with  stiff,  straight 
back  and  tortoise-shell  lorgnette,  the  man  with  hair  splen- 
didly dashed  with  grey,  and  all  aglow  with  health  and 
fine  linen.  Rustling  figures  scattered  all  about  supple- 
mented these  more  definite  ones,  and,  fountain-like,  kept 
playing  out  in  echoes  of  "  how  sweet !  "  "  how  pretty !  " 
"  how  sweetly  pretty !  " 

"  Now  where  had  we  best  begin  ?  "  Arthur  Roburne 
asked  again. 

"  I  put  myself  entirely  in  your  hands,"  answered  May, 
in  charming  surrender  of  her  will  to  his.  "  Have  you 
not  already  greatly  distinguished  yourself  at  that  sort  of 
thing?  "  she  added  after  the  slightest  of  pauses. 

"  Oh,  please  don't  laugh  at  me,"  he  begged ;  "  it 
makes  me  feel  so  nervous.  Do  you  like  these  Louis 
Seize  candlesticks,  Miss  Ruthven?  They  say  Louis 
Seize  is  a  good  period  to  collect.  These,  of  course, 
aren't  genuine,  though  they  look  almost  as  well  as  if 
they  were.  But  it's  the  identity  of  a  thing  that  counts. 
Oh,  I  say,  Miss  Ruthven,  it's  really  charming,  you  know, 
to  be  getting  a  chat  with  you  again — after  being  fagged 
to  death  for  a  whole  week  and  hardly  getting  a  glimpse 
of  you." 

"  It's  too  bad  to  have  a  fag  like  that,"  she  murmured, 
her  voice  vibrating  with  indignant  concern.  "  I'd  rebel 
against  it,  if  I  were  you.  How  strange !  The  tops  of 
these  candlesticks  are  made  to  come  off !  " 

"  Yes,  that's  what  they   call  the  bobeches,"  he  ex- 


256  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

plained.  "  But  I  didn't  mean  to  suggest  that  I  shirk 
hard  work.  Being  only  Arthur,  and  not  Charlie,  I  have 
to  take  my  profession  seriously;  and,  in  political  life, 
there's  nothing  like  beginning  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder 
and  learning  the  business  thoroughly.  In  a  way  I've 
been  enormously  lucky  to  have  had  Skeffington  take  me 
up.  With  my  ambition,  I  could  scarcely  have  made  a 
better  beginning." 

She  had  listened  to  him,  all  whilst  further  examining 
the  candlesticks,  with  serene  yet  attentive  countenance. 
"  Yes,  Flo  has  often  told  me  how  ambitious  you  are,"  she 
chimed  in ;  "  that  you  mean  to  be  Prime  Minister  one  of 
these  days." 

Roburne  blushed  like  an  awkward  school-boy.  "  I'm 
afraid  Flo  somewhat  exaggerates,"  he  stammered,  as  if 
on  his  defence.  "  To  listen  to  her  you'd  imagine  I  had 
the  most  awful  swelled  head,  whereas  I  am  only  anxious 
to  do  my  best  in  the  hope  of  making  a  name.  A  man 
may  frankly  look  forward  to  honourable  achievement  and 
yet  be  a  good  fellow — don't  you  think  so,  Miss  Ruth- 
ven?" 

"  Certainly,"  she  admitted  "  I  can't  understand  a 
man  not  being  ambitious.  If  he  isn't,  he  must  be  either  a 
fool  or  a  philosopher.  The  fool  isn't  worth  discussing, 
and  the  philosopher,  I  confess,  is  quite  beyond  my  intel- 
lect. But  I'm  sure  Flo  never  meant  to  be  indiscreet. 
She  is  genuinely  enthusiastic  about  you."  She  moved 
away  from  the  candlesticks. 

The  young  man  looked  up  and  observed  with  dismay 
that  people  had  suddenly  begun  swarming  into  the 
room. 

"  I've  a  bright  idea,  Miss  Ruthven — to  wit,  a  cup  of 
tea!  It's  really  such  a  bore  to  be  elbowed  about,  and 
the  multitude's  only  beginning  to  show  itself.  So  please 
let  me  off  now.  I  do  want  to  talk  to  you  a  little,  and 
you  must  admit  I  have  been  unfortunate  of  late." 

"  I  shall  be  grateful  for  the  cup  of  tea,"  she  said 


THE  HUSBAND  257 

graciously.  "  But  I'm  afraid  there  won't  be  much  of  a 
chat — we  have  to  go  on." 

He  made  a  wry  face,  and  she  took  his  arm  again, 
laughing  frankly  at  his  discomfort. 

"  Well,  3'ou  must  make  it  up  to  me  on  Thursday  when 
I  am  bringing  my  aunt  to  your  aunt's  party.  You'll 
scarcely  be  going  on  elsewhere  then,  and  I  shall  have 
you  at  bay." 

"  Ah,  but  your  Skeffington  is  coming — have  you  for- 
gotten? Did  we  not  receive  his  gracious  reply  in  your 
own  hand-writing!  What  if  he  has  you  at  bay?  I 
mean — gets  you  into  a  corner  and  dictates  letters  or 
something  of  the  kind !  "  she  pursued  mischievously. 

"  Pie's  taskmaster  enough  for  that,"  murmured  Ro- 
burne  uneasily,  half  to  himself. 

In  the  tea-room,  however,  they  found  another  crowd, 
mainly  women,  nibbling  sandwiches  or  eating  raw  straw- 
berries and  cream,  with  just  a  sprinkling  of  frock-coated 
males  who  stood  amongst  them  chatting  sociably  and 
skilfully  balancing  their  cups.  Presently  May  and  her 
companion  discerned  Preston  in  that  very  attitude  and 
engaged  in  discoursing  to  Gwenny,  who,  seated  in  a 
corner,  had  been  hidden  from  their  view  as  they  entered 
the  room.  Gwenny  wore  a  green  dress  with  dark  facings, 
and  a  charming  Leghorn  hat.  Her  hair  was  arranged 
a  la  vierge,  and,  though  largely  concealed  by  the  hat, 
still  harmonized  prettily  with  her  features.  As  usual, 
she  was  pale  and  ethereal-looking,  and  her  face  was 
turned  up  to  Preston's  with  half-shy,  attentive  eyes. 
And  just  a  few  feet  away  sat  Lady  Wy cliff e  and  Hubert ! 
Roburne  did  not  feel  quite  so  pleased  as  he  tried  to  look, 
especially  as  he  saw  Lady  WyclifFe's  face  rest  on  his 
companion's  with  a  smile  that  suggested  the  girl  should 
come  to  her. 

Though  she  was  advancing  in  years,  the  change  in 
Lady  WyclifFe's  appearance  was,  apparently,  of  the 
slightest.  As  of  yore,  she  wore  her  white  hair  high 


258  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

above  her  thoughtful  forehead,  and  there  was  the  same 
sweet  expression  about  her  eyes  and  mouth.  But  the 
softly-faded  face  was  marked  by  an  infinity  of  lines  that 
spoke  of  doubtful  health  and  pain  bravely  endured. 
Her  voice,  too,  had  grown  more  subdued. 

She  took  May  by  both  hands.  "  I  have  just  been 
doing  my  best  to  entice  our  Hubert  from  his  family 
circle  for  once,"  she  explained  with  a  winning  smile ; 
"  and  he  has  promised  to  lunch  with  me  on  Sunday — not 
to  be  entertained,  but  just  for  a  friendly  talk  with  a  not 
very  clever  old  woman.  Now,  little  birdie,  I  want  you 
to  come,  too — I  have  been  shamefully  neglected  by  both 
of  you  of  late.  Of  course  I  know  my  house  is  the  dullest 
in  London  for  a  high-spirited  child  who  likes  a  romp, 
but  I  hear  you've  been  going  about  a  great  deal  of  late, 
and  perhaps  a  few  quiet  hours  may  not  be  entirely  un- 
welcome." 

"  Dear  Lady  Wycliffe !  "  said  the  girl,  her  eyes  full  of 
soft  witchery  as  she  returned  the  caressing  pressure  of 
the  hands  that  still  held  hers.  "  You  know  how  happy 
it  always  makes  me  to  be  near  you ! "  May  felt  the 
hands  close  on  hers  tighter  than  ever  now. 

Roburne  brought  May  her  tea  at  this  moment,  and 
Lady  Wycliffe  had  the  benevolent  idea  of  extending  an 
invitation  to  him  as  well.  "  It  will  make  a  charming 
quartette!"  she  urged,  with  a  touch  of  girlish  joyous- 
ness  in  her  voice. 

Roburne  eagerly  accepted,  feeling  largely  consoled  for 
the  loss  of  his  tete-a-tete. 

As  soon  as  they  had  seen  the  bride  and  bridegroom 
drive  off,  about  an  hour  later,  the  Ruthvens  re-assembled 
and  went  off  to  finish  their  afternoon  at  a  garden-party 
in  Kensington. 

The  girls  were  somewhat  silent  as  they  drove  along,  as 
if  the  wedding  had  stimulated  them  to  mystic  reflection 
on  the  human  destiny ;  but  Constance,  the  excitement  of 
the  same  event  mingling  with  the  excitement  of  her  own 


THE  HUSBAND  259 

coming  party  (for  which  preparations  were  by  now  well 
advanced),  made  ample  amends  for  their  silence.  She 
appeared  to  have  a  marvellously  exact  recollection  of 
all  the  presents — to  which  she  was  a  catalogue  and 
descriptive  guide  in  one.  She  enumerated  the  things  of 
which  there  had  been  duplicates,  and  indicated  how  Lady 
Florence  might  make  mutually  advantageous  exchanges 
with  one  of  her  friends  who  had  been  married  shortly 
before,  and  of  whose  duplicated  presents  an  accurate 
record  likewise  existed  in  Constance's  mind. 


Ill 

the  Saturday  following  Hubert  was  able  to 
leave  his  chambers  with  the  rare  sensation  of  a 
complete  respite  from  his  labours.  On  arriving 
home,  however,  he  remembered  he  had  to  lunch 
in  solitude,  the  others  having  gone  off  early  in  the 
morning  to  join  a  river-party  at  Twickenham.  So  he 
rose  from  the  table  immediately  after  eating,  and  went 
across  the  hall  to  his  own  sanctum,  with  the  intention  of 
skimming  the  newspapers  or  toying  with  a  book,  as  the 
mood  of  the  moment  might  dictate. 

The  sanctum  was  a  comfortable  one,  though  it  con- 
veyed an  excessive  suggestion  of  solid  respectability. 
It  had  a  large  oak  work-table,  and  a  red-and-blue  East- 
ern carpet,  and  great  bookcases  lining  the  walls,  and 
roomy  arm-chairs. 

Hubert  could  not  settle  down  at  once,  but  found  him- 
self pacing  about  with  a  curious  sense  of  having  wan- 
dered into  somebody  else's  home.  True,  all  these  books, 
arranged  in  such  immaculate  lines  behind  the  beautiful 
glass  panels,  were  the  very  ones  his  own  hand  had  so 
patiently  and  lovingly  collected.  Yet  none  the  less  did 
they  seem  absorbed  into  the  general  alien  atmosphere, 
of  which  he  was  as  conscious  here  as  everywhere  in  the 
house.  He  thought  with  a  sigh  of  the  charming,  dis- 
orderly study  of  long  ago,  from  which  he  had  so  often 
stepped  out  on  to  the  lawn  on  soft  summer  evenings, 
when  the  children's  long  day  of  happiness  had  been 
crowned  by  the  deepest  of  slumbers. 

Finally  he  dropped  into  a  chair,  and  passed  his  hand 
across  his  face  despondently.  The  household  weighed 
on  him ;  he  regretted  their  migration  to  London. 

260 


THE  HUSBAND  261 

But,  unwilling  to  abandon  himself  to  the  unpleasant 
thoughts  that  besieged  him,  he  presently  tried  to  find 
some  little  distraction  in  the  batch  of  papers  and  maga- 
zines that  lay  on  the  table.  He  was  fortunate  enough 
to  chance  on  one  or  two  articles  that  had  some  interest 
for  him,  and  he  read  steadily  for  half-an-hour  or  so. 
Then,  taking  up  a  weekly  society  paper  at  random,  he 
stumbled  across  a  long  account  of  the  Bellows-Roburne 
wedding.  Although  in  the  intervening  few  days  he  had 
not  escaped  hearing  much  of  the  brilliance  of  the  crowd 
which  he  himself  had  looked  upon  so  indifferently,  the 
description  of  the  whole  affair  was  certainly  surprising. 
The  magnificence  of  the  occasion  flashed  and  scintillated, 
shone  richly  at  him  from  the  printed  words,  with  a  riot 
of  grandeur  and  colour  his  innocent  eye  had  never  sus- 
pected in  the  living  assemblage.  He  had  been  aware  of 
a  multitude  of  well-dressed  people,  of  bride  and  brides- 
maids and  pages,  had  drunk  a  bad  cup  of  tea,  had  con- 
versed a  little  with  his  friends.  And  that  corresponded 
with  this  dazzling  fairy  tale ! 

He  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  picture  of  the  bride 
standing  erect  amid  the  throng  of  the  great  and  noble, 
a  stately  creature  of  "  fair  golden  hair  and  sweet  feat- 
ures "  in  full  panoply  of  white  satin  and  orange  blossoms, 
of  chiffon  and  point  d'Alencon  and  seed  pearls,  of  sweep- 
ing train  and  Brussels  lace  veil  fastened  with  a  crescent 
of  sapphires  and  diamonds.  He  had  a  vision  of  Lady 
Farrow  disarranging  this  veil,  and  wiping  the  tearful 
eyes  with  a  dainty  kerchief — suppressed  though  the  in- 
cident had  been  by  the  chronicler! 

He  threw  down  the  paper  and  pushed  the  whole  heap 
further  away  from  him.  He  could  not  read  any  more. 
His  thoughts  went  back  to  his  own  womenfolk.  If  he 
had  not  been  interested  in  obtaining  a  complete  view  of 
one  of  their  days,  a  whole  page  out  of  the  diary  of  their 
existence,  his  taste  of  their  social  round  the  other  after- 
noon would  have  left  him  cold  and  indifferent.  For 


262  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

months  and  months  now  he  had  struggled  against  his 
bitterly  clear  perception  that  they  had  thrown  themselves 
heart  and  soul  into  a  wholly  worldly  existence  (involving 
the  maintenance  of  an  ever-growing  luxury),  and  were 
devoting  every  available  minute  of  their  time  to  pleasure, 
pleasure,  pleasure — pursuing  it  with  a  thoughtless  f  ever- 
ishness  that  appalled  him. 

Such  enthusiasm  for  "  life  "  he  had  never  conceived. 
What  an  energy  they  put  into  every  day — every  mo- 
ment! Theirs  was  the  ecstasy  of  a  bird  on  the  wing; 
it  was  even  akin  to  that  of  a  savage  on  the  war-path !  He 
had  continually  rubbed  his  eyes  in  unbelief — but  the 
facts  would  not  bear  denial.  Then  he  had  set  about 
searching  for  every  possible  argument  in  their  favour, 
He  must  not  give  way  to  resentment,  he  told  himself, 
merely  because  what  afforded  them  the  greatest  gratifica- 
tion afforded  him  none  at  all.  So  radical  a  difference 
between  his  temperament  and  theirs  was  to  be  regretted, 
but  it  must  not  lead  him  into  injustice. 

He  knew  himself  pretty  well  by  now — with  the  years 
he  had  become  more  clearly  defined  to  himself.  A  less 
ghostly  person  stared  back  at  him  from  the  mirror  of 
his  soul.  He  felt  as  if  his  personality  had  concentrated 
itself,  as  if  it  had  lost  a  great  deal  of  its  vagueness  and 
shadings.  Its  gamut  had  come  to  comprise  a  few  simple 
notes  that,  when  struck,  sounded  the  deeper  and  stronger. 
His  approvals  and  disapprovals  were  backed  by  stronger 
personal  feeling  than  he  had  been  wont  to  display  in  his 
earlier  years.  And  yet,  with  this  growing  tendency 
towards  austerity  of  character,  there  was  joined  an  in- 
finite tenderness  towards  the  whole  world. 

He  had  been  deeply  impressed  by  the  words  Preston 
had  used  to  him  in  the  course  of  their  first  conversation 
after  the  latter's  return  from  his  wanderings :  "  At  one 
time  I  thought  it  possible  you  might  end  your  days  in  a 
cloister ! "  He  had  often  cited  this  to  himself  as  an 
instance  of  his  friend's  sagacity,  for  there  had  been 


THE  HUSBAND  263 

moments  of  late  when  he  had  almost  found  himself  long- 
ing for  the  serenity  of  the  monk's  existence.  Severe 
stone  mediaeval  spaces,  bare  monastic  interiors,  ripe 
crumbling  walls,  had  risen  in  his  thoughts — symbols  of 
repose  amid  this  hurrying,  scurrying  life  of  the  London 
season. 

The  consciousness  of  his  own  austerity  had  made  him 
the  more  anxious  to  guard  himself  against  possible  nar- 
rowness and  intolerance.  Constance,  May,  and  Gwenny 
were  the  last  people  in  the  world  against  whom  he  should 
harbour  one  ungenerous  thought.  Surely,  if,  by  de- 
liberate self-sacrifice  and  self-suppression,  one  rendered 
happy  those  with  whom  one's  life  was  in  closest  contact, 
that  should  be  reckoned  a  great  thing  to  have  achieved ! 
Had  he  not  all  along  based  the  possibility  of  his  own 
happiness  on  that  of  the  others?  And  were  they  not 
happier  than  ever  before  in  their  lives? 

He  was  perfectly  aware  it  clearly  followed  from  this 
reasoning  that  he  himself  should  be  living  in  perfect 
clover,  and  that,  if  he  wasn't,  it  could  only  be  from 
crookedness  on  his  own  part.  Yet,  in  spite  of  all  such 
logic,  his  constant  attempts  to  crush  back  that  blind, 
spontaneous  passion  of  rebellion,  of  remorse,  even  of 
anger,  which  he  had  felt  rising  in  him,  had  proved 
utterly  unavailing.  In  his  heart  he  knew  all  along  that 
the  considerations  with  which  he  had  tried  to  sustain 
himself  were  the  veriest  self-deception.  And  now  he 
had  finally  been  forced  to  the  conclusion  that  the  posi- 
tion was  intolerable ! 

He  still  clung  to  his  desire  to  be  scrupulously  fair  to 
them.  He  did  not  complain  that  his  old  relation  to- 
wards them  had  altogether  ceased,  that  they  had  long 
since  slipped  away  from  his  influence.  However  much 
that  fact  contributed  to  his  present  unhappiness,  he 
bowed  his  head  to  it  now.  It  was  only  natural  for  their 
minds  to  claim  independence  sooner  or  later.  Look,  for 
example,  what  a  gap  there  had  been  between  himself  and 


ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

his  mother!  He  did  not  even  complain  that  they  had 
gone  their  own  way,  and  made  their  own  outlook,  and 
followed  their  own  pleasures.  That,  again,  he  admitted, 
was  in  the  natural  course  of  things ;  even  though  he  was 
bitterly  jealous  of  all  that  seduced  them  away  from  him 
and  deprived  him  entirely  of  their  society — save  in  the 
most  casual  moments.  His  own  personal  grievances  he 
was  rigorously  careful  to  exclude;  he  reserved  to  him- 
self the  mere  right  of  impartial  criticism.  He  had  never 
meant  otherwise  than  that  they  should  find  happiness  in 
life,  but  the  mode  they  had  chosen  was  devoid  of  a 
single  redeeming  feature! 

"Utterly  and  wholly  selfish!"  Such  was  the  judg- 
ment he  was  constrained  to  pass  on  their  existence. 
Never  once  since  their  settlement  in  London  had  they 
shown  any  disposition  to  render  humane  service  of  any 
kind — at  least,  not  in  any  way  he  could  respect.  They 
had  taken  stalls  at  bazaars,  or,  metamorphosed  into 
pretty  waitresses,  had  served  tea  and  ices,  and  dexter- 
ously coaxed  guineas  from  unwilling  pockets.  Their 
charity,  such  as  it  had  been,  had  always  gone  through 
the  conventional  society  channels,  and,  always  associated 
with  forms  of  social  pleasure  and  with  aristocratic 
gatherings,  had  been  more  by  way  of  maintaining  their 
standing  than  by  way  of  spontaneous  benevolence. 

But,  apart  from  the  purely  moral  aspect  of  the  posi- 
tion, there  were  other  points  of  rottenness  that  were 
grievously  manifest.  Not  only  in  the  attempt  to  sustain 
the  monstrous  structure  they  had  reared  was  he  being 
forced  to  narrow  his  soul,  and  live  and  work  as  the 
veriest  Philistine,  but,  notwithstanding  all  Constance's 
economy  in  the  management  of  her  establishment,  they 
had  been  spending  every  farthing  of  available  income — 
nay,  even  more  than  that !  He  had  not  at  all  foreseen 
this  eventuality — he  had  trusted  Constance's  calculation 
absolutely.  Yet  when  he  found  how  one  indulgence  was 
inevitably  necessitating  other  indulgences,  and  how  far1, 


THE  HUSBAND  265 

in  consequence,  her  maximum  anticipations  were  being 
exceeded,  he  had  not  had  the  heart  to  utter  a  single 
word  of  reproach.  On  the  contrary,  he  had  put  on  a 
smiling,  reassuring  face,  feeling  his  back  was  broad 
enough  for  the  burden.  The  fact  that  they  were  de- 
pending on  him  would,  in  itself,  have  made  any  protest 
seem  unutterably  vulgar.  So  he  had  preferred  to  look 
into  his  affairs,  change  his  investments  for  the  sake  of 
higher  interest,  and  strain  every  nerve  generally.  He 
did  not  fear  a  breakdown,  but  the  position  was  perilously 
tried — so  much  so  that  he  had  now  often  to  stint  himself 
in  various  necessary  details.  What  grieved  him  more 
than  anything  was  that,  for  some  time  past,  he  had  been 
unable  to  spare  one  farthing  for  benevolent  purposes — a 
luxury  in  which  he  had  been  able  to  indulge  himself 
practically  all  his  life. 

He  did  not  shrink  from  taking  most  of  the  blame  on 
his  own  shoulders,  though  there  were  certainly  extenuat- 
ing circumstances.  He  was  too  honest  with  himself  not 
to  see  his  great  love  for  them  had  weakened  him.  Never 
had  his  lips  been  capable  of  meeting  a  wish  of  theirs 
with  the  word  "  no."  And  once  he  had  authorized  the 
move  to  London,  he  had,  as  he  saw  now,  given  up  the 
reins  for  good  and  always;  for  his  authority  over  their 
minds  had  subtly  passed  away  even  before  that,  and 
the  one  power  he  held  over  them — that  of  money — he 
would  have  scorned  to  evoke  under  any  conditions.  Even 
in  the  very  last  weeks  they  had  had  only  to  toss  him 
a  kiss  and  dazzle  him  with  their  smiles  and  beauty,  and 
he  had  at  once  been  blinded  and  disarmed! 

Lady  Wycliffe,  too,  had  unwittingly  been  at  the 
bottom  of  the  mischief.  His  own  dear  ones  had  been 
drawn  into  the  whirlpool  gradually,  had  been  unable  to 
resist  the  powerful  influences  to  which  they  had  been 
subjected.  He,  the  breadwinner,  immersed  in  toil  for 
their  sake  (though  often  enough  in  idle  romantic  mo- 
ments he  had  thought  his  calling  ignoble,  and  had  longed 


266  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

for  freedom  to  go  amid  humanity  and  power  to  heal 
its  wounds)  had  been  debarred  from  seeing  what  they 
were  doing  from  day  to  day.  It  was  an  irony  of  ironies 
that  Lady  Wycliffe's  friendship,  on  which  he  had  set 
such  store  for  the  children,  should  have  so  largely  con- 
tributed to  bring  about  the  very  state  of  affairs  against 
which  his  conscience  was  now  in  such  painful  revolt 

Yet  he  loved  her  ladyship  too  well  to  bear  her  any 
ill-feeling.  True,  he  had  been  wistfully  playing  with 
the  idea  of  opening  out  his  heart  to  her  even  now,  and 
trying  to  make  her  understand  how  real  and  deep  his 
rebellion  was.  Was  not,  indeed,  an  intimate  talk  her 
own  avowed  purpose  in  asking  him  to  her  house  on  the 
morrow? — though,  to  be  sure,  she  had  apparently  (and 
characteristically)  lost  sight  of  that  the  very  next  mo- 
ment in  her  impulsive  invitation  to  the  others !  Never- 
theless he  had  come  to  the  conclusion  it  would  be  per- 
fectly futile  to  say  anything  to  her  at  this  late  stage. 
How  truly  had  his  sagacious  friend  read  into  her  ever 
so  many  years  ago !  With  all  her  warm-heartedness  and 
ready  sympathy,  with  all  her  quickness  to  grasp  others' 
points  of  view,  she  was  yet,  when  dealing  with  actual  life, 
entirely  incapable  of  all  modes  of  seeing  and  arranging 
other  than  those  customary  in  her  world.  In  however 
conventional  a  manner  she  might  be  acting,  she  always 
displayed  the  most  charming  unconsciousness  that  it 
was  otherwise  than  in  accordance  with  the  most  liberal 
considerations.  But  how  could  he  be  vexed  with  so 
kind  and  true  a  woman  ?  She  was  ageing  now,  so  to  what 
profit  make  her  suffer? 

He  must  follow  his  own  conscience — sternly,  yet  rea- 
sonably! He  could  not  believe  that  those  who  were 
most  dear  to  him  were  as  heartless  as  they  appeared; 
that  an  important  human  side  of  them  was  really  dead. 
He  must  win  them  back  to  better  ideals.  The  complex 
selfishness  of  their  days  should  yield  to  his  old  ideal  of 
a  refined  simplicity.  Sympathy  with  the  poor,  and  as 


THE  HUSBAND  267 

much  helpfulness  as  was  in  their  power  must  supersede 
the  barren  social  round.  So  far  as  they  really  cared,  by 
all  means  they  might  have  their  circle  of  friends,  for 
human  intercourse  was  good  and  beautiful.  But  the 
rush  to  put  foot  for  a  moment  amid  packed  crowds 
within  hundreds  of  houses  that  belonged  to  people  who 
were  known  to  them  with  less  than  superficiality,  the 
constant  adding  on  no  ground  whatever  to  a  visiting 
list  already  portentously  long — these  things  seemed  to 
him  a  perversion. 

The  position,  he  recognized,  was  a  difficult  one  for 
him  to  handle.  It  occurred  to  him  it  possibly  might  be 
best  for  everybody  if  he  took  up  an  inexorable  attitude, 
and  smashed  up  the  "  establishment "  without  further 
ado.  However,  so  sudden  and  drastic  a  measure  did 
not  really  commend  itself  to  him.  He  had  too  much 
sound  sense  to  desire  to  proceed  melodramatically.  Be- 
sides, he  had,  if  only  by  silence,  sanctioned  Constance's 
party,  and  he  had  no  wish  to  make  fools  of  the  invited 
guests.  And  then  his  own  women  folk  had,  no  doubt, 
accepted  many  invitations  for  the  next  few  weeks.  What- 
ever steps  he  might  decide  on,  therefore,  must  be  car- 
ried out  quietly  and  with  dignity.  He  might  even  judge 
it  wise  to  wait  patiently  till  the  end  of  the  season.  The 
house  could  then  be  let,  and  he  could  bear  them  off 
to  the  country,  where,  with  the  opportunities  for  com- 
munion thereby  offered,  he  might  hope  gradually  to  re- 
establish his  old  influence  over  them. 


IV 

t  ^ARLY  in  the  afternoon  Hubert's  reflections  were 
§-m  interrupted  by  the  announcement  that  a  Mr. 
M  J  Jones  wished  to  deliver  a  letter  to  him  person- 
ally, and  had  refused  to  pass  it  through  the 
medium  of  Armstrong. 

"  What  sort  of  man  is  it?  "  asked  Hubert  puzzled. 

"  I  can't  quite  make  him  out,  sir,"  said  Armstrong, 
"  He  looks  very  poor." 

Hubert  was  interested.  He  rose  and  went  into  the 
hall  to  look  into  the  matter  himself.  A  tall,  clean- 
shaven man,  pale  and  sad-looking,  was  waiting  in  the 
lobby  with  extraordinarily  meek  demeanour.  Hubert's 
eye  took  in  at  once  that  his  carefully-brushed  clothes 
were  threadbare  to  the  last  degree,  and  that  a  large, 
clumsy  cravat  entirely  concealed  his  shirt-front.  Hold- 
ing a  finely-polished  silk  hat  in  one  hand,  the  visitor 
presented  a  dingy  envelope  with  the  other,  presuming, 
at  the  same  time,  that  he  had  the  honour  of  addressing 
Mr.  Ruthven.  His  voice,  timid  and  subdued,  as  if  he 
almost  expected  to  be  cudgelled  for  his  audacity,  sug- 
gested long  futile  searching  for  employment. 

Hubert  took  the  envelope,  quite  unenlightened  at 
hearing  that  the  bearer  was  a  messenger  from  "  Mr. 
Newton."  But  the  perusal  of  the  missive  brought  him 
sufficient  recollection  of  its  sender,  a  fellow  law-student 
whom  he  had  once  admired,  but  of  whom  he  had  lost 
sight  for  years  and  years.  Hubert,  however,  was  only 
mildly  surprised  at  hearing  from  him  again  after  so 
great  an  interval — his  experience  of  life  had  long  since 
taught  him  that  almost  everybody  turns  up  again,  some 
time  or  other.  He  remembered  that  this  Newton  had 

268 


THE  HUSBAND  269 

been  a  very  brilliant  fellow.  The  few  who  had  known 
and  understood  him  were  perfectly  aware  that  he  was 
never  likely  to  be  heard  of  in  the  world  or  even  to 
achieve  professional  success.  His  intellect  was  so  many- 
sided  that  he  could  not  concentrate  himself  in  any  one 
direction  with  that  exclusive  intensity  necessary  for 
earning  money.  The  versatility  of  his  intelligence,  un- 
supported by  inalienable  food  and  shelter,  had  proved 
his  ruin. 

His  letter  to  Hubert,  written  in  watery  ink  on  a 
muddy-white  sheet,  was  addressed  from  a  common  lodg- 
ing-house near  Spitalfields  Market. 

"  DEAR  MR.  RUTHVEN — 

"  Please  pardon  my  intrusion  on  you,  but  we  were 
acquainted  once  upon  a  time  (a  long  while  ago),  though 
there  is  no  reason  why  you  should  be  able  to  recall  me 
now.  I  am  that  Newton  with  whom  you  and  others 
went  one  night  to  see  an  Adelphi  melodrama,  and  with 
whom,  alone,  you  afterwards  wandered,  pendulum-like, 
between  his  diggings  and  yours  till  break  of  day.  We 
each  had  such  a  deal  to  say  that  each  kept  turning  back 
to  see  the  other  part  of  his  way  again.  And  so  we 
oscillated  to  and  fro  all  night  long.  If  the  memory  has 
entirely  faded,  please  put  me  down  as  an  impostor. 
Otherwise  please  lend  me  ten  shillings. 

"  I  have  been  for  a  long  time  at  the  bottom  of  the 
deep,  deep  sea,  but  at  last  have  obtained  a  job,  and  this 
is  an  attempt  at  solving  the  problem  of  existence  till  I 
am  in  receipt  of  my  first  week's  wages.  I  have  not  even 
the  sixpence  for  to-night's  bed,  but  ten  shillings  will 
carry  me  through  the  week,  and  shall  be  faithfully  re- 
paid. The  bearer,  a  bed-fellow  of  adversity,  has  to  pass 
your  way,  and  good-naturedly  undertakes  to  deliver  my 
request  and  to  bring  back  your  reply,  if  any. 
"  Yours  obediently, 

"  WILMOTT  NEWTON." 


270  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

Hubert  had  a  moment  of  strange  emotion.  With  the 
memory  of  this  fellow-student  came  back  the  flavour 
of  early  days  when  the  bitterness  of  futile  striving  was 
tempered  by  the  freshness  of  the  world  and  the  large 
horizon  of  life.  In  that  epoch  of  glowing  youth  the 
world  had  contained  important  things  and  persons,  and 
important  events  had  sometimes  happened! 

He  asked  the  bearer  if  he  were  returning  at  once,  and 
bade  him  tell  Mr.  Newton  he  would  call  and  see  him 
that  same  afternoon.  The  man  promised  in  his  pathetic- 
ally subdued  manner  to  deliver  the  message,  thanking 
him  for  his  reply  with  an  equally  pathetic  politeness. 
Then,  with  a  nervous  "  good-afternoon,"  he  took  his 
departure,  obviously  glad  to  escape  from  the  oppressive 
palatial  atmosphere,  and  from  so  disturbing  a  proximity 
to  one  of  the  world's  superior  beings. 

As  the  door  slammed  behind  Mr.  Jones,  Hubert 
realized  that  the  letter  had  completely  upset  him.  It 
could  scarcely  have  caught  him  in  a  more  susceptible 
mood.  The  underworld  of  London  surged  upon  him 
again  in  all  its  immense  reality,  with  all  its  immense 
pity.  The  world  of  beauty,  pleasure,  and  luxury  was 
blotted  out.  He  saw  humanity  scarred,  suffering,  toil- 
ing. He  saw  vividly  the  vast  stretches  of  tenement 
cities  whose  bleak  and  sordid  streets  swarmed  with  the 
slave  populations. 

He  was  trembling  as  he  returned  to  his  study.  Yet 
he  welcomed  the  episode  as  breaking  up  the  insufferable 
apathy  of  his  long  afternoon.  His  impulse  was  to  make 
at  once  for  the  Spitalfields  lodging-house.  It  mattered 
little  that  he  would  be  following  so  close  on  the  heels 
of  the  messenger — at  any  rate  he  would  be  escaping  from 
the  deadly  depression  of  his  own  home. 

Soon  he  had  left  the  house  and  was  making  his  way 
down  the  road.  Oxford  Street  was  full  of  traffic  and 
people,  but  Hubert,  in  his  impatience  to  get  forward, 
was  almost  abstractedly  unconscious  of  everything.  He 


THE  HUSBAND  271 

walked  some  little  distance,  then  mounted  an  omnibus 
going  citywards.  He  did  not  anticipate  any  difficulty 
in  finding  the  Spitalfields  street.  In  the  wanderings  of 
his  student  days  he  had  learnt  to  know  that  very  district 
intimately,  and  his  recollection  of  it,  if  not  quite  dis- 
tinct, was  not  entirely  vague.  He  remembered  well  the 
church  and  the  market,  and,  after  an  effort,  could  recall 
the  main  conformation  of  the  whole  quarter. 

He  descended  at  the  Bank  of  England,  strolled  on 
foot  to  Bishopsgate  through  the  heart  of  the  money 
market,  then  lost  himself  in  a  strange  concatenation  of 
back  streets  and  alleys,  all  familiar  to  him  in  the  olden 
days,  passing  through  sociable,  gossiping  human  colo- 
nies a-swarm  in  hidden  spaces,  and  for  unexpectedness 
like  the  mysterious  resources  of  Neapolitan  by-ways. 

The  dramatic  swiftness  with  which  in  London  one 
may  plunge  from  the  pride  of  historic  and  representative 
thoroughfares  into  the  deepest  depths  towards  which 
human  wreckage  is  swept,  was  a  fact  to  which  he  had 
grown  accustomed  in  his  youth.  Yet  to-day  he  could 
not  help  feeling  surprise  at  his  quick  penetration  to  the 
heart  of  these  packed,  reeking  labyrinths,  close,  some- 
times foul,  and  always  full  of  the  mingled  sloppy  odours 
that  emanated  from  the  houses  and  the  gutters  and  the 
gratings.  The  air  was  thick  to  the  eyes  as  it  was  thick 
in  his  nostrils.  The  children  sprawling  all  over  the  road- 
ways, and  congregated  on  the  doorsteps  looked  after  him, 
and  occasionally  strutted  behind  him — the  more  daring 
spirits  calling  out  mockingly.  Worn-out  women  eyed 
him  suspiciously  from  their  doorways,  and  besotted  men 
leered  at  him  as  they  stood  about  heavily  outside  the 
public  houses  (which,  inside,  were  packed  with  humanity, 
smoking,  carousing,  singing,  chattering,  recklessly  treat- 
ing, making  the  usual  Saturday  inroad  into  the  infinite 
riches  of  its  replenished  treasuries). 

At  last,  after  much  roundabout  and  random  explora- 
tion, Hubert  found  his  way  to  the  great  stone  church 


272  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

which  he  had  always  retained  in  his  mind  as  the  land- 
mark of  the  district.  Its  solemn  green  graveyard  ran 
alongside  a  busy  main  road  full  of  factories  and  com- 
merce, and  its  steeple  shot  up  romantically  high  above 
the  dilapidated  neighbourhoods.  From  the  chiselled 
form  of  Greek  urn  and  marble  monument  was  wafted 
the  aroma  of  ancient  civilizations,  and  with  it  a  sense 
of  abiding  mystery,  sweet  and  brooding,  infinitely 
peaceful. 

Presently  Hubert  plunged  again  into  another  network 
of  streets  at  the  back  of  the  church,  and,  with  the  help 
of  some  slight  inquiry,  was  able  to  find  the  lodging- 
house  from  which  Newton  had  addressed  him.  It  was 
a  comparatively  new  building,  palatial  against  the  adja- 
cent grimy  houses.  Lounging  under  its  great  open  win- 
dows, a  score  of  labourers  smoked  short  clays  or  re- 
mained in  a  fixed  melancholy.  Their  expressionless  eyes 
instinctively  turned  after  Hubert  as  he  made  for  the 
high  doorway.  Here  another  lounger  with  a  mysterious 
manner  (that  suggested  some  large  network  of  conspir- 
acy) accosted  him  in  a  hearse  whisper,  infinitely  signifi- 
cant, inquiring  whom  he  wished  to  see,  and  offering  to 
call  the  party  out.  Hubert  vaguely  replied  he  dared 
say  he'd  find  the  man  he  wanted,  and — heedless  of  what 
he  might  flounder  into ! — brushed  aside  his  officious  in- 
terlocutor. Then,  passing  the  foot  of  the  stone  stairway 
that  twisted  its  way  up  at  the  side  of  the  lobby,  he  made 
his  way  into  the  spacious  common-room.  Despite  the 
ample  ventilation,  a  wave  of  hot  air  smote  his  face,  unit- 
ing strangely  with  the  buzz  of  conversation  from  the  few 
scattered  groups  at  the  long  wooden  tables.  It  was  just 
about  tea-time,  but  not  many  of  the  denizens  of  the 
house  had  yet  come  in.  To  Hubert  the  scene  was  in- 
finitely pathetic.  A  white-haired  old  man,  with  bent 
back,  weird  massive  features,  and  a  venerable  beard,  was 
broiling  a  bloater  at  the  blazing  fire  at  the  further  end 
of  the  room;  whilst  other  ragged  wrecks  were  similarly 


THE  HUSBAND  273 

busy  at  a  second  great  fire  nearer  the  door.  Midway 
between  the  two  was  a  small  counter  fixed  in  an  aper- 
ture in  the  wall,  across  which  from  the  adjoining  kitchen 
(tantalizingly  stocked  with  provender)  mugs  of  tea  were 
being  served  to  a  little  motley  crowd  of  purchasers.  In 
the  centre  of  this  crowd,  a  fine  stalwart  figure  towered 
up  in  startling  contrast  with  the  broken,  limp,  ragged 
reprobates  pressing  about  him.  Jauntily  poised  on  the 
back  of  his  head  was  a  resplendent  silk  hat — that  desper- 
ately cherished  symbol  of  the  outcast's  rightful  standing, 
to  be  clung  to  even  longer  than  hope  itself,  its  impecca- 
bility renewed  from  time  to  time  even  at  the  sacrifice  of 
a  night's  shelter!  Its  gloss  had  outlasted  the  smartly 
cut  frock-coat,  now,  alas !  of  the  colour  of  an  autumn 
leaf,  sere,  dry,  and  fallen.  But  the  bearing  of  the  man 
was  proud  and  firm  and  soldierlike.  There  was  no  mis- 
taking the  West-End  clubman  and  officer.  As  he  turned 
away  from  the  little  bar,  carrying  his  tea  and  bread- 
and-butter,  his  eye  caught  Hubert's,  and  his  lips  moved 
in  a  grim  smile,  as  if  to  say :  "  You  understand,  old 
man ! " 

At  the  same  time  Hubert  had  been  looking  about  for 
Newton,  less  hoping  to  recognize  than  to  be  recognized. 
But  he  perceived  neither  the  messenger  who  had  brought 
the  letter  to  Portland  Place,  nor  anybody  he  could 
identify  with  any  degree  of  probability  as  the  man  he 
had  come  to  see.  So  after  waiting  some  little  time,  he 
thought  he  had  better  take  half-an-hour's  turn  in  the 
neighbourhood  immediately  around. 

The  streets  here,  though  still  grimy  and  thick  with 
life,  were  yet  far  less  mean  than  those  he  had  previously 
traversed.  There  was  a  touch  of  an  earlier  century  about 
the  dingy  brick  two-storey  houses,  with  here  and  there 
a  pleasing  old-world  feature — a  projecting  carved 
moulding  over  a  doorway,  a  strange  bit  of  ironwork,  an 
ancient  fan-light  of  harmonious  design.  Sometimes  he 
caught  glimpses  of  interiors — the  decayed  little  rooms, 


274  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

occupied  as  tenements,  seemed  all  panelled  in  mellow 
oak,  and  the  tiny  entrance-corridors,  often  worn  and 
dirty  beyond  all  reclaiming,  were  similarly  wainscoted. 

The  half-hour  passed  quickly,  and  Hubert  hurried 
back  to  the  lodging-house  and  again  strolled  into  the 
common-room,  eyeing  the  inmates  searchingly.  As  he 
doubtfully  moved  down  the  room,  and  stood  hesitating 
right  in  the  middle  of  it,  a  bearded,  middle-aged  man 
with  sad,  sunken  eyes  and  shaggy  eyebrows,  who  was 
seated  somewhat  apart  on  a  bench  under  one  of  the  high 
windows,  put  down  the  evening  paper  he  had  been  read- 
ing, and,  after  watching  Hubert  for  a  moment,  rose  and 
came  forward. 

"  I  am  Wilmott  Newton,"  he  said.  "  Of  course  you 
won't  recognize  me  after  all  these  years." 

The  man  before  him  was  entirely  a  different  being 
from  the  Newton  he  had  known.  His  beard  was  thick 
and  shot  with  white,  so  that  its  colour  was  curiously 
akin  to  the  unpleasant  drab  of  his  clothes — a  cheap,  ill- 
fitting  jacket-suit  with  clumsy  seams.  His  face  was 
wasted,  his  voice  had  coarse  vibrations.  Newton  as  a 
young  man  had  been  slim  and  charming.  But  Hubert 
had  no  doubts  as  to  his  identity.  The  smile  was  the 
same ;  the  ghost  of  the  old  Newton  made  itself  sufficiently 
felt  in  the  new  Newton.  They  shook  hands — quietly  and 
coldly,  certainly  with  formality.  Something  seemed  to 
stand  between  them,  to  check  effusion  or  cordiality. 

"  I  preferred  to  come  personally,"  murmured  Hubert, 
embarrassed  to  make  a  beginning.  He  was  disappointed 
at  this  tame  meeting,  but  scarcely  knew  what  else  he 
had  expected. 

"  It's  very  kind  of  you,  indeed,"  said  Newton ;  "  but, 
of  course,  I  didn't  mean  to  put  you  to  so  much 
trouble." 

"  I  should  only  have  idled  away  the  afternoon,"  ex- 
plained Hubert  rather  shamefacedly.  He  felt  almost  as 
if  he  had  intruded  on  the  other's  misery,  and  ought  to 


THE  HUSBAND  275 

apologize.  "  Besides,"  he  added,  "  the  prospect  of  a  talk 
with  you  was  tempting." 

At  Newton's  suggestion,  they  got  into  a  corner.  The 
room  was  rapidly  filling  now,  but  any  notice  that  was 
taken  of  them  was  not  pronounced  enough  to  be  discon- 
certing. Newton  explained  further  his  position  at  the 
moment.  He  had  been  six  months  out  of  work,  but  at 
last  had  been  given  a  place  by  the  foreman  of  a  large 
paper  warehouse  at  twenty-five  shillings  a  week,  so  he 
was  looking  forward  to  leaving  the  lodging-house  and 
returning  to  the  luxury  of  a  furnished  bedroom  of  his 
own.  His  work  would  have  to  be  done  in  a  great  vaulted 
cellar  with  gas  burning  perpetually.  But  the  prospect 
was  welcome,  since  of  late  his  experiences  had  been  of 
the  roughest.  He  had  been  reduced  to  any  kind  of  odd 
job  he  could  get — had  not  escaped  the  sandwich-boards. 
At  one  time  he  had  kept  himself  alive  by  picking  up 
cigar-ends,  and  selling  his  day's  harvest  for  a  couple  of 
pence.  Only  a  month  before  he  had  got  a  place  in  a 
small  ready-made  clothes  depot — to  which  at  least  he 
owed  the  decent  suit  he  now  wore.  But,  unfortunately, 
his  employer  had  been  bundled  off  to  gaol  for  buying 
stolen  goods,  and  Newton  had  found  himself  stranded 
again  after  only  one  week  of  employment.  But  he  was 
pretty  well  used  to  roughing  it.  He  had,  in  fact,  fol- 
lowed all  sorts  of  humble  employments  for  years,  with 
interludes  of  humbler  employments  still. 

"  It  is  strange  to  be  talking  to  you  again.  It  seems 
centuries  ago  since  I  dropped  out.  But  I  have  often 
thought  of  you,  have  read  your  name  in  the  papers — you 
were  prospering  in  the  old  profession." 

"  It's  a  matter  of  mere  luck,"  said  Hubert.  "  Our 
positions  might  so  easily  have  been  reversed." 

"  That  is  certainly  comforting,"  said  Newton,  smiling. 
"  But  I've  long  since  settled  down  to  being  a  failure 
among  the  other  failures  of  the  earth.  I  have  always 
been  a  bit  of  a  stoic,  though,  and,  with  decent  food  and 


276  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

shelter,  such  as  I  am  now  looking  forward  to  again,  I 
can  manage  to  jog  along  quite  contentedly.  In  spite 
of  all  the  privations  I  have  had  to  bear,  my  experiences 
have  been  interesting,  and  I  still  think  myself  quite  as 
good  as  if  I  were  the  possessor  of  a  respectable  worldly 
position." 

Hubert  professed  to  corroborate  Newton's  philosophy. 
He  himself  was  no  worshipper  of  "  success."  After  all, 
the  most  terrible  failure  from  the  world's  point  of  view 
might,  from  a  truer  standpoint,  be  the  very  reverse. 
Nevertheless,  his  feelings  were  too  harrowed  to  allow 
him  to  consider  the  career  of  this  old  brilliant  acquaint- 
ance of  his  with  such  placid  detachment.  Moreover, 
the  scene  was  working  upon  him — the  pitiable  types  in 
every  stage  of  decay,  the  variety  of  faces  with  their 
expressions  of  hope,  defiance,  dejection,  despair,  resig- 
nation. He  could  not  keep  his  eye  from  running  round 
the  room  again  and  again,  and  he  could  scarcely  trust 
himself  to  speak.  Newton  half-smiled  as  he  observed 
Hubert's  own  miserable  expression. 

"  I  fear  the  temperature  is  not  wholly  agreeable.  If 
you  will  allow  me  to  accompany  you  a  little  on  your 
way,  we  can  talk  going  along,"  he  suggested. 

Hubert,  having  handed  to  him  the  sum  he  had  asked 
for,  rose  in  response  to  the  suggestion.  As  they  passed 
out  together,  he  took  a  last  quick  look  about  him.  The 
clubman  in  the  faded  frock-coat  sat  in  meditative  isola- 
tion at  the  corner  of  one  of  the  long  tables,  his  empty 
mug  and  plate  before  him.  Hubert  readily  picked  out 
the  occupants  he  had  noticed  on  his  first  entry — they 
seemed  to  stand  out  amid  the  groups  of  new-comers. 
And  the  final  picture  impressed  itself  on  him  sharply. 

They  strolled  along  towards  Bishopsgate,  talking  in 
the  same  vein,  Hubert  obviously  sad,  Newton  also  per- 
haps finding  the  occasion  somewhat  irksome.  Hubert, 
indeed,  felt  quite  well  that  this  man,  metamorphosed  by 
the  years  and  circumstance,  was  not  in  warm  touch  with 


THE  HUSBAND  277 

him.  He  had  corne  prepared,  as  it  were,  to  take  him 
by  both  hands  and  pour  out  his  sympathy.  But  that 
subtle  constraint  of  which  he  had  been  aware  at  the  mo- 
ment of  their  meeting  had  remained  during  all  their 
conversation.  And  this  aspect  of  the  experience  sad- 
dened him  the  more — especially  as  he  felt  the  fault  was 
not  on  his  side. 

They  parted  at  the  Bank  of  England,  Newton  him- 
self seizing  so  natural  an  opportunity  of  coming  to  a 
halt,  repeating  his  thanks,  and  holding  out  his  hand  in 
farewell.  Hubert  hoped  Newton  would  write  to  him 
occasionally,  then,  immersed  in  thought,  he  abstractedly 
mounted  a  homeward  omnibus. 


rHE  next  day  Hubert  took  May  to  lunch  at 
Arlington  Street. 
The  quartette,  the  idea  of  which  had  so 
delighted  their  hostess,  proved,  however,  to  be 
a  sextet.    Mrs.  Drummond,  their  old  friendly  neighbour, 
at  Lynford,  had  suddenly  come  to  town  for  a  few  days 
and  was  staying  at  the  house.     To  balance  her  table, 
Lady  Wy cliff e  had  asked  Preston  to  join  them,  so  that 
her  benevolent  habit  of  springing  him  on  Hubert  once 
more  found  exercise. 

"  I  have  good  news  for  you,"  was  her  greeting  to 
Hubert.  "  Madame  Almusa  has  promised  me  to  sing 
at  your  party." 

"  Madame  Almusa !  "  he  repeated  blankly.  "  She  is 
to  sing  for  us  ?  " 

"  Ah,  you  did  not  know,"  she  smiled  kindly.  "  I 
suppose  it  was  to  be  a  little  surprise  for  you  in  case 
I  succeeded.  Mrs.  Ruthven  should  have  warned  me. 
And  I  suppose  you  were  in  the  conspiracy  as  well,  you 
wicked  little  thing !  "  She  shook  a  deprecating  finger  at 
May,  who  had  reddened  with  pleasure  and  excitement. 

Hubert  understood  now.  To  have  the  divine  Almusa 
sing  at  one's  private  party  was  to  achieve  the  rarest 
distinction.  True,  Constance  had  not  been  able  to  an- 
nounce the  fact  on  her  cards,  but  the  sensation  would 
be  all  the  greater  for  being  unannounced,  and,  if  only 
in  view  of  the  possibility  of  the  notoriously  capricious 
divinity's  changing  her  mind,  the  omission  could  scarcely 
be  considered  a  disadvantage.  Altogether — as  Hubert 
phrased  it  to  himself — "  it  would  give  them  a  big  lift." 
He  had  a  sudden  desire  to  laugh  aloud.  But  he  main- 

278 


THE  HUSBAND  279 

tained  the  gravest  of  faces,  and  thanked  Lady  Wycliffe 
on  Constance's  behalf. 

"  Yesterday  was  Almusa's  birthday,  and  I  brought 
her  a  box  of  bonbons,  of  which  I  have  always  kept 
the  maker's  name  a  religious  secret,  so  that  she  has 
only  been  able  to  get  them  from  me.  She  is  very  fond 
of  that  kind,  and  has  always  begged  me  to  give  away 
the  secret.  So  I  took  the  opportunity  yesterday  of 
making  a  bargain  with  her."  Lady  Wycliffe  laughed 
and  clapped  her  hands  with  glee.  "  However,  we  shall 
soon  discover  something  that  she'll  like  even  better,  and 
then  we  shall  have  a  new  secret." 

She  sent  in  Mrs.  Drummond  with  Preston,  the  two 
younger  people  naturally  following  together,  and  took 
Hubert's  arm  herself.  They  settled  down  very  snugly 
in  the  dining-room,  and  Lady  Wycliffe  at  the  head  of 
the  table  had  a  charming  smile  for  everybody.  In  the 
subdued  light  that  filled  the  hospitable  spaces  of  the 
old  mellow  room,  her  simple  dignity  seemed  to  blend 
gently  with  the  sentiment  of  the  stately  portraits  that 
hung  against  the  wainscoting.  Hubert  was  quite  near 
her  on  the  same  side  of  the  table  as  May  and  Roburne, 
whilst  Mrs.  Drummond  and  Preston  sat  immediately 
facing.  Mrs.  Drummond,  now  a  white-haired  old  lady 
with  a  somewhat  rugged  face  in  which  were  strange 
depths  of  softness  and  pity,  had  always  had  a  warm 
regard  for  her  neighbour,  and  the  pair  were  excellent 
friends.  As  Hubert  had  had  May's  assurance  that  she 
did  not  view  Roburne  with  any  sort  of  intolerance,  he 
found  the  ordering  of  the  table  entirely  unexceptionable. 

The  conversation,  as  was  natural  in  so  small  a  party, 
was  for  the  most  part  general.  But  Mrs.  Drummond 
somehow  began  to  feel  that  Preston  was  far  from  at 
his  ease,  for  he  scarcely  seemed  to  be  listening  to  what 
was  said,  and  once  or  twice  she  even  addressd  him  with- 
out getting  any  reply.  She  also  noticed  that  neither 
Mr.  Roburne  nor  Miss  Ruthven  shone  particularly  in 


280  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

the  conversation  (which  was  practically  sustained  by  her- 
self, Hubert,  and  the  hostess),  but,  as  she  had  been  in 
all  Lady  Wycliffe's  secrets  since  they  were  girls  to- 
gether, the  occasional  abstraction  of  the  two  young 
people  merely  made  her  smile.  Preston's  case,  however 
she  couldn't  understand  at  all.  And  once,  when  the  talk 
was  broken  up,  and  Arthur  Roburne  began  to  discourse 
to  his  young  neighbour,  whose  frank  laugh  rang  out 
merrily,  yet  restrainedly,  she  actually  noticed  Preston 
eating  his  lip  instead  of  his  cutlet,  and  twirling  his 
moustache  instead  of  crumbling  his  bread.  She  was  a 
woman  of  excellent  discernment,  but  she  was  quite  at 
a  loss  to  account  for  this  aberration  on  his  part. 

Meanwhile  Hubert  was  amazed  at  his  own  loquacity, 
for  he  had  by  no  means  been  so  fortunate  as  to  lose 
himself  in  the  occasion.  At  the  back  of  his  mind  he 
was  picturing  a  vague  Almusa  singing  to  a  ghostly 
audience  in  his  own  drawing-room.  He  had  no  suspicion 
that,  even  before  May  had  made  the  acquaintance  of 
the  Roburne  family,  Lady  Wycliffe,  full  of  sympathetic 
affection  for  the  Ruthvens,  and  with  her  instinctive  love 
of  giving  destiny  a  secret  push  for  the  good  of  others 
whenever  she  could,  had  singled  out  Arthur  Roburne  as 
an  excellent  young  man  for  May  to  fall  in  love  with. 
Her  sense  of  the  highest  expression  of  her  good-will 
for  Hubert  was  to  marry  his  girls  for  him.  Being 
neither  as  shrewd  a  judge  of  men  as  Preston,  nor  ad- 
dicted by  disposition  to  examine  people  searchingly,  she 
accepted  the  current  estimate  of  the  young  Balliol  hon- 
oursman;  and  the  irrepressible  play  of  that  ever  fresh 
and  charming  enthusiasm  of  hers,  combined  with  an 
amazingly  sure  instinct  that  the  two  young  people  would 
take  to  each  other,  had  led  her  to  perceive  in  him  every 
ideal  quality  and  virtue. 

Now,  Lady  Wycliffe  was  in  the  habit  of  ascribing 
to  herself,  and  always  with  a  glow  of  pride,  an  excep- 
tionally subtle  apprehension  of  Hubert's  peculiar  ideas ; 


THE  HUSBAND  281 

yet,  curiously  enough,  her  inability  to  see  as  he  saw, 
or  rather  to  understand  what  exactly  it  was  he  did  see 
(whilst  sincerely  imagining  she  understood  perfectly), 
was  exemplified  in  her  present  unshakable  conviction 
that  Arthur  Roburne  was  just  the  kind  of  young  man 
Hubert  had  had  in  mind  in  many  past  conversations 
with  her.  Had  she  not  always  been  in  perfect  agree- 
ment when  he  had  declared  his  hope  that  his  girls 
might  grow  up  content  to  marry  men  who  were  at 
an  early  stage  of  their  careers;  happy  to  give  their 
husbands  all  the  sympathy  and  help  they  could,  and 
to  share  a  simple  refined  existence.  Girls  only  too  often 
regarded  marriage  as  the  attainment  of  a  ready-made 
station  and  the  opportunity  for  enjoying  all  the  ad- 
vantages that  appertained  to  it,  accepting  everything 
and  giving  nothing.  That  point  of  view,  he  had  often 
declared,  was  one  of  selfish  pleasure,  and  was  as  vulgar 
as  it  was  fashionable.  He  believed  his  girls  would  get 
more  real  happiness — and  that  of  the  highest  kind — by 
doing  their  utmost  for  their  husbands.  A  charming 
touch  of  Bohemianism,  as  he  used  to  put  it,  added  im- 
mensely to  the  attraction  of  wedded  life. 

Now  here  was  the  very  man,  had  thought  Lady 
Wycliffe,  overflowing  with  an  almost  tearful  benevo- 
lence, and  rubbing  her  hands  with  feminine  good-hearted 
mischievous  delight.  So  she  had  set  to  work  to  foster 
the  conditions,  and  the  results  were  of  the  happiest. 
Hubert  had  had  in  mind  a  plain  gentleman  of  high 
ideals  and  broad  humanitarian  views;  not,  of  course, 
the  younger  son  of  a  proud  Tory  earl,  inheriting  the 
traditions  and  prejudices  of  his  class,  and  pledged  to 
maintain  them.  Lady  Wycliffe  never  dreamed  that  this 
admirable  jroung  man  without  any  sense  of  humour, 
who  had  never  had  (and  never  would  have)  any  period 
of  unrest,  of  that  eager  mental  searching  that  leads  to 
rebellion,  was  not  after  Hubert's  own  heart. 

Great  and  abiding  as  was  her  friendship  for  Hubert, 


ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

that  for  the  moment  had  been  subordinated  to  the  ac- 
complishment of  the  idea  that  had  arisen  out  of  it. 
She  had  thus,  in  spite  of  her  genuine  desire  for  one 
of  their  old  tete-a-tete,  been  quite  unable  to  resist  so 
splendid  a  chance  of  giving  the  young  people  an  extra 
opportunity  of  coming  together,  knowing  that  the 
Skeffingtonian  taskmastership  was  hard  and  unremit- 
ting, and  that,  in  spite  of  May's  intimacy  with  the 
family,  the  young  man  must  be  suffering  agonies  of 
uncertainty.  At  Rutland  Gate  his  aunt  and  sister  had 
always  assisted  at  their  meetings,  and  his  people,  at 
present,  looked  with  disfavour  on  his  spending  too  much 
of  his  time  in  general  society,  preferring  him  to  con- 
centrate his  attention  in  certain  quarters  with  a  view  to 
his  advancement.  True,  May  rode  regularly  in  the 
Row,  but  Roburne  could  seldom  take  a  canter  at  the 
same  time.  Thus  they  were  reduced  to  casual  meetings 
under  formal  circumstances. 

These  unpromising  conditions  notwithstanding,  the 
wooing  had  proceeded — though  as  yet  the  young  man 
was  far  from  feeling  sure  of  having  engaged  the  girl's 
affections.  But  Lady  Wycliffe  was  watching  it  keenly, 
herself  fearfully  aware  of  the  extent  to  which  it  was 
hampered,  though  gleeful  at  noticing  how  blind  Hubert 
was  to  what  was  a-brewing. 

Hubert,  for  his  part,  was  always  relying  on  Constance 
to  apprize  him  should  either  of  the  girls  appear  to  be 
forming  an  attachment.  As  Constance  had  not  so  far 
communicated  any  suspicion  to  him,  and  as  the  girls 
themselves  were  so  extremely  young,  he  was  taking  it 
for  granted  that  nothing  had  as  yet  arisen  to  make  any 
demand  on  his  personal  attention.  Otherwise,  he  would 
have  felt  not  a  little  disquieted  that  May's  affections 
should  have  been  won  in  such  a  quarter — an  event  of 
which  the  logical  outcome  could  only  be  her  entire  ab- 
sorption for  good  and  always  into  that  life  from  which 
he  still  hoped  to  win  her  back. 


VI 

TT  "W"  UBERT  was  the  first  in  the  drawing-room  on 

m     i        the  evening  of  Constance's  party.     He  had 

J[    M^          looked  through  the  list  of  people  who  were 

soon  to  be  flooding  in,  and,  though  the  vast 

majority  were  quite  unknown  to  him-  he  was  anxious  to 

do  his  best  to  be  of  help  in  entertaining  them. 

Constance  would  have  preferred  giving  a  dance  for 
the  girls,  but  her  own  list  of  young  men  was  far  too 
meagre,  and  she  was  not  yet  intimate  enough  with  her 
fashionable  friends  to  be  able  to  utilize  somebody  else's. 
Her  position,  in  fact,  was  necessarily  tentative;  she  had 
to  feel  her  way  cautiously,  fearful  of  snubs,  morbidly 
conscious  of  her  modest  past,  and  of  the  slenderness 
of  her  personal  claim  to  attention — in  short,  knowing 
only  too  well  that  she  had  yet  to  take  root  in  these 
fascinating  social  altitudes. 

Nothing  untoward  had  happened  to  seduce  their  guests 
elsewhere.  The  awning  stretched  from  the  house-door 
to  the  roadway.  The  many  windows  blazed  with  light, 
the  illumined  angle  of  the  two  serried  streets  designing 
itself  on  the  night.  All  the  rooms  on  the  first  floor  had 
been  thrown  open — the  smaller  and  cosier  ones  arranged 
for  quiet  conversation — and  on  the  landing  an  embow- 
ered space  had  been  improvised  for  the  fashionable  gipsy 
band.  On  guard  at  the  foot  of  the  double  staircase  two 
life-size  bronze  children  held  aloft  many-branched  can- 
delabra. Myrmidons  (supplied  by  contract  with  the 
supper)  had  possession  of  the  hall,  the  stairway,  and 
the  kitchens,  and  in  Hubert's  study  steaming  silver  urns 
stood  on  the  long  table  amid  the  usual  riot  of  crockery 
and  refreshments.  The  house  was  ready — gay  and 

283 


284.  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

scented  and  gleaming;  the  company  alone  was  want- 
ing. 

Gwenny  was  the  first  to  join  Hubert  in  the  drawing- 
room.  She  wore  a  simple  amber  gown,  very  soft  and 
flowing,  with  a  string  of  tiny  pearls  at  her  throat.  Her 
hair  was  dressed  wavingly  over  her  ears,  with  a  deep- 
green  leaf  at  the  side  and  a  vivid  scarlet  bud  set  against 
it.  She  struck  him  as  looking  remarkably  tall  to-night 
as  she  came  to  him  in  her  usual  undemonstrative  fashion. 
He  kissed  her  on  the  forehead,  feeling  that  if  she,  too, 
had  grown  strangely  aloof  from  him,  it  was  rather  in  a 
different  way  from  the  others.  Somehow  he  did  not 
resent  her  defection  as  much  as  he  resented  May's.  She 
had  never  been  so  near  to  him  as  her  sister,  and  her 
aloofness,  which  had  to  some  extent  characterized  her 
manner  even  as  a  child,  might  almost  be  looked  upon — 
at  least  in  certain  of  its  aspects — as  a  purely  natural 
development.  The  thoughtfulness  that  so  becomingly 
radiated  from  her  features  had  always  had  a  baffling 
suggestion  of  mystery  about  it.  Hubert  shrewdly 
suspected  she  had  ideas  of  her  own,  though  it  was  easy 
to  understand  she  had  joined  in  the  same  round  as  the 
others  as  a  matter  of  course.  He  knew,  moreover,  that 
she  was  by  no  means  as  popular  as  her  younger  sister, 
and  that  people  seemed  to  prefer  to  admire  her  from  a 
distance. 

Yet  he  himself  was  scarcely  an  exception,  for  he  still 
retained  the  old  unconscious  favouritism,  and  was 
dazzled  almost  to  confusion  when  May  appeared  in  the 
doorway  just  then,  all  in  white  foam,  with  lines  of  ex- 
quisite coral  round  her  neck,  a  green  sprig  in  her  bosom, 
and  a  white  rose  in  her  silken  hair  that  was  witchingly 
fresh  and  radiant.  She  came  across  the  room  with  a 
joyous  movement,  her  red  lips  parted,  her  teeth  gleam- 
ing, her  eyes  dancing.  With  Hubert  she  was  as  natur- 
ally coquettish  as  her  sister  was  austere  and  earnest, 
and,  as  she  came  near  him,  her  face  changed  again  and 


THE  HUSBAND  285 

i 

took  on  a  babyish,  large-eyed  expression  of  innocence. 
But  he  was  too  blinded  to  notice  that,  in  the  interim, 
a  quick  significant  glance  had  passed  between  the  two 
sisters  on  May's  part  of  warning  and  appeal,  on 
Gwenny's  of  patient  disdain. 

Meanwhile  the  band  had  been  taking  up  its  position 
just  outside,  and  Constance's  voice  was  heard  as  she 
exchanged  a  word  with  the  conductor.  Then  she  came 
sailing  graciously  into  the  room,  fresh  and  fair  for  her 
forty  years,  her  full  woman's  figure  admirably  gowned 
in  black  velvet,  against  which  her  bare  shoulders  rose 
dazzingly.  A  triple  necklace  of  pearls  hung  low,  rest- 
ing gently  on  her  bosom. 

Presently  the  four  found  themselves  standing  in  a 
silent  group. 

"  Why  are  we  all  so  solemn  ?  "  exclaimed  May,  and 
just  then  the  sudden  noise  of  instruments  tuning  up 
destroyed  the  tension  and  set  them  laughing. 

Some  of  their  best  friends  were  inspired  to  come 
early,  and  thus  the  evening  had  an  intimate  beginning 
which  helped  greatly  to  send  it  off  on  a  smooth  career. 
The  actual  first  arrivals  were  all  of  the  feminine  gender 
— Preston's  favourite  sister  from  Flintshire,  Constance's 
mother  and  two  younger  sisters,  and  Madame  Barto- 
lozzi ;  but  soon  a  little  knot  of  barrister  friends  appeared 
to  redress  the  balance  with  sober  dress-coats.  Preston, 
who  came  up  the  stairs  simultaneously  with  Lady  Wy- 
cliffe  and  Mrs.  Drummond,  found  quite  a  cheerful 
nucleus  already  in  the  drawing-room.  People  kept 
straggling  in  by  twos  and  threes  for  the  next  half-hour, 
then  suddenly  the  road  was  alive  with  carriages,  and 
guests  began  to  pour  into  the  house  steadily,  spreading 
themselves  out  into  all  the  rooms,  blocking  the  staircase, 
and  crushing  into  every  niche  and  corner.  The  hubbub 
of  their  voices  rose  in  cheerful,  sociable  discord;  a  dis- 
creet accompaniment  of  music  breaking  gently  across  it. 

The  windows  were  wide  open  to  the  soft  breeze  that 


286  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

came  from  the  neighbouring  Regent's  Park,  but  to  Con- 
stance the  cool  circulating  air  seemed  to  glow  with  a 
thrilling  splendour,  and,  if  now  and  again  a  spasm  of 
nervousness  overcame  her,  Lady  Wycliffe  was  near  to 
give  her  the  encouragement  of  her  presence.  Yet,  the 
crowd  being  for  the  most  part  "  in  the  same  swim,"  the 
task  of  entertainment  was  easy  enough,  reducing  itself 
to  a.  mere  watching  of  the  ball  as  it  rolled,  with  just  a 
judicious  touch  here  and  there — a  word,  a  greeting,  a 
discreet  introduction — to  keep  it  at  full  speed. 

When  at  last  the  rooms  seemed  full,  May  slipped 
away  from  Constance's  side,  and,  like  a  sprite,  was  here, 
there,  everywhere,  self-possessed,  sparkling,  merry.  She 
was  more  than  seen  and  admired;  her  active  personality 
dominated  the  house,  impressed  itself — with  skill,  with 
fine  resource.  At  the  same  time  her  own  enchantment 
knew  no  bounds ;  the  whole  feeling  of  this  party  in  their 
own  house  was  glorious  to  her.  There  was  nothing  which 
did  not  give  her  pleasure — the  lights,  the  people,  the 
homage,  the  large  house  itself,  the  awnings,  the  far- 
stretching  double  rank  of  carriages,  the  lines  of  lackeys, 
the  plate,  the  flowers.  She  had  a  large  consciousness  of 
every  detail. 

The  innumerable  wax  candles  burnt  lower  in  their 
sconces,  the  murmuring  flow  of  music  was  heard  as  in 
the  distance,  yet  always  penetrating;  people  left  now 
and  again  to  go  on  elsewhere,  but  there  was  a  steady 
press  of  arrivals  to  take  their  place.  The  house  was 
packed.  Constance  still  held  her  court  in  the  drawing- 
room,  and  here,  too,  Gwenny  was  content  to  stay,  though 
Hubert,  like  May,  was  at  length  impelled  to  choose  a 
larger  field  for  his  perambulations. 

But,  unlike  May,  he  soon  found  he  was  hardly  at  home 
in  his  own  house.  All  along  he  had  had  a  cool  per- 
ception that  this  throng  of  earls,  baronets,  soldiers, 
politicians,  millionaires,  and  their  corresponding  women- 
kind,  had  not  been  drawn  here  by  his  wife,  but  that  the 


THE  HUSBAND  287 

central  figure  of  the  evening  was  in  reality  Lady  Wy- 
cliffe.  How  pitifully  self -deceived  was  Constance! 

Here  and  there  his  eye  noticed  an  occasional  guest 
who  wore  an  uncomfortable  air  of  aloofness.  But  it  was 
amusing  to  feel  that  he  himself  was  as  much  of  an 
"  outsider  "  as  any  of  these.  He  prowled  about  vaguely 
amid  the  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  people  he  had 
never  seen  before  in  all  his  life,  amid  these  gleaming 
toilettes  with  which  this  house  bloomed  like  a  flower- 
garden. 

On  his  restless  way  upstairs  again,  he  encountered 
Arthur  Roburne,  whom  he  had  not  yet  seen  that  evening. 
The  young  man  greeted  him  eagerly,  pressing  his  hand 
effusively;  inquired  how  he  had  been  since  they  had 
met  at  Arlington  Street,  and  stayed  a  moment  lounging 
against  the  balustrade.  These  civilities  interchanged, 
they  pursued  their  respective  ways.  At  the  top  of  the 
staircase  Hubert  found  himself  in  a  momentary  block  of 
converging  currents,  and  face  to  face  with  Preston. 
He  flashed  at  his  friend  a  meaning  smile,  but  Preston 
failed  to  respond.  Then  Hubert,  noticing  he  was  in  a 
strange  fit  of  absraction,  gave  him  a  gentle  dig.  "  Why 
this  solemnity? "  he  whispered  in  his  ear.  "  I  had 
expected  you'd  be  amused  by  the  incongruity  of  this 
whole  foolish  business." 

"  Oh,  I  wasn't  thinking  about  that,"  answered  Preston 
mysteriously,  as  with  the  renewal  of  movement  they 
were  borne  past  each  other.  Ultimately  Hubert  found 
himself  in  the  neighbourhood  of  his  wife,  and  felt  a 
certain  comfort  in  having  got  back  to  his  starting-point. 

In  the  meanwhile  Preston  pursued  his  way  down-stairs, 
and  began  to  look  about  him  eagerly.  He  drew  a 
breath  of  relief  as  he  noticed  Arthur  Roburne  in  con- 
versation with  a  group  of  two  matrons  and  two  daugh- 
ters, and  May  just  turning  away  from  another  group  at 
a  distance.  He  at  once  hurried  forward  to  intercept  her. 

"  Hullo ! "  she  txclaimed  in  playful  greeting. 


288  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

"  Hullo !  "  he  returned.  "  You  look  happy — have 
been  dispensing  bright  glances.  None  for  me  though !  " 

"  Oh,  well,  you've  seen  through  me  ever  so  long  ago," 
she  answered  playfully.  "  I  know  better  than  to  attempt 
to  humbug  you" 

"  Humph !  I  sincerely  hope  this  flattering  attitude  of 
yours  is  not  to  be  permanent." 

"  I  see.  Like  all  old  fogeys,  you  find  it  hard  to  exist 
without  being  humbugged." 

"  Without  the  kind  of  humbug  in  question  now — 
certainly !  "  he  answered  with  imperturbable  gravity. 

She  was  habitually  hard  upon  him  because  she  knew 
he  was  more  than  her  match,  and  she  was  perhaps 
slightly  chagrined  at  having  to  acknowledge  it — even 
though  only  to  herself.  His  courtly  parry  of  her  attack 
made  her  feel  rather  ashamed,  and  she  was  quick  to 
make  amends  for  what  must  have  sounded  very  much  like 
pertness,  though  she  only  meant  it  for  banter. 

"  That  is  really  charming  of  you,"  she  flashed  back. 
"  And  you  deserve  a  bright  glance  for  it."  She  gave 
him  one  of  her  most  sparkling.  "  But  what's  that  queer 
thing  you're  playing  with?  " 

Her  expression  changed  as  suddenly  again  to  one  of 
curiosity.  "  A  broken  ring !  "  she  exclaimed  breathlessly. 
"  How  romantic !  " 

"  Yes,"  he  sighed.  "  There's  a  real  romance  behind 
it !  "  He  slipped  it  back  again  into  his  waistcoat  pocket. 

She  looked  interested,  but  on  her  guard.  "  You're  not 
serious  ?  " 

"  Just  like  the  irony  of  things.  All  my  life  I  have 
tried  my  hardest  to  achieve  obscurity,  yet  I  have  been 
unable  to  escape  a  reputation  for  levity.  Please  believe 
that  I  am  entirely  in  earnest." 

"  In  that  case  I  want  to  hear  all  about  it." 

He  considered  a  moment.  "  I  don't  at  all  feel  sure 
that  I  ought  ever  to  say  anything  about  it — even  to 
you!" 


THE  HUSBAND  289 

"  Oh,  you  must,"  she  protested  in  her  most  coaxing 
and  sympathetic  manner.  "  I  always  knew  you  had 
some  secret  sorrow.  The  very  bumps  on  your  dear  old 
face  have  always  had  such  a  mournful  way  about  them. 
Do  confide  in  me,  please." 

"  There's  nothing  I  should  like  better,  only  you  never 
take  me  seriously,"  he  complained.  "  Naturally,  my 
dear  girl,  a  man  doesn't  care  to  have  his  most  sacred 
confidences  received  with  flippancy." 

"  Now  you  are  unkind,"  said  May,  her  voice  tinged 
with  distress.  "  Won't  you  come  and  sit  in  this  nice 
corner,  all  among  the  pretty  flowers,  and  tell  me  every- 
thing !  I  shall  be  so  nice  and  sympathetic." 

He  had  somehow  made  her  thoroughly  believe  in  his 
seriousness,  and  she  did  not  dissimulate  her  eagerness 
as  she  led  the  way  and  quickly  seized  possession  of  the 
tempting  point  of  vantage. 

He  dropped  into  the  seat  beside  her.  "  I  confess  I 
find  it  difficult.  There  has  been  so  much  banter  between 
us  all  these  years." 

"  That's  not  my  fault,"  she  declared.  "  You  set  the 
tone — you  always  masked  your  true  self  and  only  seemed 
to  care  about  puzzling  me." 

He  looked  at  her  keenly.  She  seemed  bent  on  having 
things  out  with  him  and  coming  to  a  better  under- 
standing. 

"  That  was  merely  due  to  my  sense  of  propriety,"  he 
explained.  "  I  was  never  created  to  be  read  by  the 
young  person,  so  I  was  forced  to  present  you  with  an 
expurgated  edition  of  myself." 

"  There !  You  see  it's  you  who  won't  take  me  seri- 
ously— and  I  want  to  be  friendly  with  all  my  heart." 

"  I'm  sorry,"  he  half-groaned ;  "  but  it's  a  pretty 
tough  struggle  for  me  to  take  myself  seriously.  Life  is 
really  such  a  ridiculous  business." 

"  You  strange  thing !  I  do  believe  you're  going  from 
bad  to  worse.  You  used  not  to  be  always  so — so — well, 


290  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

let  us  say  *  eccentric.'  Why,  once  upon  a  time,  we  used 
to  get  on  beautifully  together.  I've  known  you  to  be 
quite  natural — just  clever  and  interesting,  you  know — 
for  hours  at  a  stretch.  Don't  you  remember  that  summer 
evening  at  Paris  when  uncle  brought  you  across  with 
him,  and  we  came  to  meet  you  both  at  the  Gare  du 
Nord.  It  was  my  seventeenth  birthday,  and  you  gave 
me,  you  remember  what — don't  you?  " 

He  nodded,  glancing  instinctively  at  the  coral  neck- 
lace that  gave  such  a  charming  touch  of  colour  to  the 
picture.  Her  fingers  played  with  it  a  moment  ere  she 
continued  softly  and  in  enchanted  reminiscence — 

"  We  were  all  so  happy  that  evening,  what  with  dining 
on  the  boulevards,  and  strolling  afterwards  in  the  warm 
night  through  the  Champs  Elysees  and  some  of  the 
great  avenues.  How  sweet  and  silent  it  grew  as  we  got 
further  and  further  away  from  the  busy  part!  I  can 
see  the  silhouettes  of  the  great  houses  now,  and  the 
wonderful  starry  sky.  And  then  later  on,  what  an 
enchantment  it  was  to  come  back  to  the  brilliant  boule- 
vards again,  with  all  the  life  and  sparkle!  We  walked 
on  ahead,  do  you  remember?  And  how  we  talked,  and 
talked — you  and  I !  Those  are  the  moments  I  treasure, 
they  were  so  beautifully  serious.  I  like  you  more  for 
them  than  for  all  our  years  of  friendly  snarling  at  each 
other.  Now  I  really  do  believe  you  have  a  deep  hidden 
sorrow  in  your  life,  and  I  also  really  believe  that,  in 
spite  of  everything,  I  am  your  best  friend — next  to 
uncle,  of  course.  And  even  uncle  isn't  more  fond  of 
you  than  I  am.  So  you  must  tell  me  everything.  If 
you  won't  trust  me,  you'll  never  find  anybody  else  half 
as  sympathetic.  *"'  Do  tell  me,"  she  pleaded,  with  her 
eyes  as  well  as  her  voice ;  "  me — your  little  friend !  " 

The  moments  to  which  she  had  alluded  could  scarcely 
have  been  more  beautiful  than  her  own  face  as  she 
spoke — so,  at  least,  thought  Preston. 

"  I  do  trust  you,"  he  answered  gravely. 


THE  HUSBAND  291 

"  Now  you  are  a  dear ! "  she  exclaimed,  her  eyes  glis- 
tening. 

He  was  still  silent  for  a  while,  but  she  waited  patiently. 

"  Well,  now  for  my  romance,"  he  began  at  last.  "  I 
once  lost  my  heart  to  a  very  beautiful  little  girl." 

"  Was  it  long  ago?  "  she  asked  eagerly. 

"  Years,"  he  replied.  "  We  divided  a  ring,  because  we 
had  to  part.  I  kept  one  half  and  she  the  other.  She 
promised  to  be  my  sweetheart  true  for  life.  When  we 
met  again  years  afterwards,  she  had  quite  forgotten  me 
and  my  ring  as  well.  That  lay  somewhere  neglected, 
and  as  for  myself,  I  had  difficulty  in  recalling  myself  to 
her." 

May's  face  was  suddenly  blanched.  "  Oh !  "  she  ex- 
claimed, drawing  her  breath  sharply. 

"  Ultimately  her  part  of  the  ring  was  paraded  for  a 
moment,  but — it  was  immediately  consigned  again  to 
its  old  oblivion,  in  which  it  has  remained  ever  since." 

She  sprang  up,  laughing. 

"  Ah — a  comedy !  You  have  acted  it  splendidly  all 
through.  And  you  actually  succeeded  in  making  a  fool 
of  me!  There  were  almost  tears  in  my  eyes  at  one 
time — I  can  be  a  goose  at  times.  So  that  is  the  secret 
sorrow  that  weighs  down  your  life.  I  congratulate  you 
on  keeping  so  solemn  a  face." 

"  I  assure  you  I  am  perfectly  in  earnest.  Come,  now, 
confess  you  have  been  fickle." 

"  True,  you  caught  me  tripping,  but,  after  all  the 
pathetic  expressions  you  put  on,  how  could  I  suppose 
you  were  at  your  old  tricks  again!  Besides,  it's  really 
too  bad  of  you,  bringing  up  that  old  babyish  piece  of 
business." 

"  Babyish !  "  he  groaned.  "  How  terribly  severe  you 
are ! — you  hit  me  hard." 

She  stamped  her  foot  prettily. 

"  I  understand !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  You  sometimes  go 
on  like  this  when  you're  hungry.  Happily,  supper  is 


292  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

now  to  be  had.  Let  me  see  if  I  can't  find  you  some 
other  girl — a  nice  one,  of  course — to  mystify.  You  won't 
have  any  appetite  otherwise.  I  must  admit  there  are  not 
very  many  of  them  to  be  seen;  we  are  not  boys  and 
girls  to-night,  but  important  grown-up  people.  Yet 
there  are  distinct  compensations — even  if  there  isn't 
much  fun.  There  are  lots  of  people  who  will  be  very 
attentive  to  us  after  seeing  who  are  here.  We  shall  be 
able  to  consider  ourselves  in  the  tip -top  swim." 

"  You  are  very  fond  of  that  kind  of  swimming  ?  "  he 
observed. 

"  I  couldn't  live  without  it,"  she  answered  solemnly. 
"  But  now  to  find  the  pretty  girl  for  you — somebody 
with  a  good  memory,  especially  for  broken  rings,"  she 
added.  She  began  to  move  off,  and  he  had  no  option 
but  to  follow. 

"  But  won't  you  sup  with  me — if  I  promise  to  conduct 
myself  with  all  due  regard  to  your  susceptibilities." 

"  I'm  sorry,"  she  returned ;  "  but  I've  already  prom- 
ised to  talk  to  somebody  else  during  supper.  However  a 
preliminary  ice  would  be  acceptable." 

"  How  chilling ! "  he  exclaimed,  looking  very  sad  in- 
deed. 

"  Please  don't  continue  that  comedy,"  she  begged, 
changing  her  tone  to  grave  friendly  entreaty,  as  she 
took  his  arm. 

"  My  dear  girl,  I  have  done  my  best  to  assure  you  it 
isn't  a  comedy,  and  I  wish  you  would  believe  me." 

"  It  is  a  comedy,"  she  insisted,  frowning  at  him  sig- 
nificantly. "  You're  not  going  to  catch  me  again." 

There  was  an  appreciable  interval  of  silence.  As  the 
frown  faded,  her  face  was  left  clouded  and  distressed. 

"  Of  course,"  he  said,  looking  full  at  her,  as  a  mes- 
sage of  mutual  understanding  flashed  between  them. 
"Deuced  clumsy  of  me  to  keep  up  the  joke!  Babyish 
joke,  too!  I  hope  you'll  forgive  and  forget." 

"  Of  course  I  forgive  you.    And  let  us  both  forget." 


VII 

rHE  ice  took  the  less  chilling  form  of  an  infinites- 
mal  quantity  of  mineral-water  which  May  pre- 
tended to  be  sipping,  while  Preston,  with  an 
impassive  countenance,  ate  a  mustard-and- 
cress  sandwich — a  kind  he  detested — which  he  had  taken 
at  random.  Then  she  begged  him  to  escort  her  back  to 
the  drawing-room. 

On  the  stairway  they  met  Madam  Bartolozzi  descend- 
ing. As  she  rustled  down  in  her  gay  brocade  dress,  she 
had  all  the  traditional  ease  of  charming  Continental 
womanhood.  Despite  her  greying  hair,  she  yet  retained 
that  fresh,  dignified  maturity  of  appearance  and  manner, 
which,  with  its  accompanying  suggestion  of  romance, 
had  so  fascinated  Hubert's  mother  years  before. 

"  I  have  just  been  singing,  Miss  May,"  she  said  with  a 
touch  of  reproach  in  her  soft  foreign  accent.  "  Of  course 
you  were  careful  to  take  your  dear  naughty  self  out  of 
the  way." 

"  I'm  sorry — I  did  not  know  you  were  to  sing  so 
soon,"  said  May,  with  studied  girlish  brusqueness  and 
carelessly  averted  eyes — subtly  intimating  that  all  such 
friendly  advances  on  Madame's  part  were  unacceptable. 

"  I  suppose  we  must  forgive  you  then,"  returned 
Madame  Bartolozzi  amiably,  seemingly  unaware  of  the 
girl's  coldness.  "  But  I  really  could  not  be  expected  to 
sing  after  the  divine  Almusa.  By  the  way,  what  a  lovely 
surprise  you  have  sprung  on  us  all — I  must  really  con- 
gratulate you.  I  heard  it  whispered  the  other  day  that 
she  might  be  expected  to-night,  but  nobody  believed  she 
would  actually  be  heard.  However,  she  has  arrived,  and 
I  have  been  asked  to  accompany  her.  It  seems  she  is 

293 


294  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

going  to  repeat  the  very  song  I  have  just  been 
giving." 

"  But  do  you  think  anybody  is  likely  to  notice  that?  " 
asked  May  in  innocent  off-hand  reassurance,  as  she 
continued  her  way  up  on  Preston's  arm,  leaving  Madame 
Bartolozzi  (who  in  her  heart  was  possessed  of  an  extreme 
vanity,  and,  moreover,  considered  Almusa  somewhat 
overrated)  to  ponder  which  end  of  the  dart  was  meant 
for  her — the  poisoned  point  or  the  tickling  feather. 

In  the  drawing-room  they  found  the  divinity  still 
affably  smiling  in  the  full  rays  of  Constance's  effusive 
welcome,  and  May  came  forward  to  bow  daintily  to  the 
world-famous  cantatrice.  Preston,  too,  was  presented, 
but  he  managed  to  steal  away  after  a  moment  or  so. 

Now  Arthur  Roburne,  who  had  sufficiently  paid  his 
addresses  to  the  right  persons,  and  who  had  in  the  mean- 
while lost  sight  of  his  May,  was  prowling  about  in  search 
of  her.  Happily  Skeffington  hadn't  turned  up  after  all, 
having  had  a  lump  of  dirt  blown  into  his  eye  as  he  was 
driving  home  from  Downing  Street,  and  the  eye  was  too 
inflamed  to  permit  of  his  going  out  for  the  rest  of  the 
evening.  Roburne,  in  consequence,  had  an  unusual  sense 
of  freedom,  and  he  came  swooping  down  on  May  as  soon 
as  Almusa's  attention  was  otherwise  engaged. 

"  I  want  you  to  come  to  the  rescue,"  he  begged  with 
comic  lugubriousness.  "  My  tie  has  burst  at  the  back. 
Cannot  one  of  the  servants  put  in  a  stitch  for  me — other- 
wise my  career  this  evening  threatens  to  come  to  an 
abrupt  and  timely  ending." 

His  disconsolate  expression  made  her  laugh.  "  Go 
upstairs  one  flight  more.  Knock  at  the  second  door  on 
the  right.  Inside  you  will  find  somebody — the  good 
homely  fairy  who  will  save  your  career." 

"  It  sounds  complicated,"  he  said,  looking  nervous. 

"  I'll  find  the  door  for  you  and  knock — you  must  carry 
all  the  rest  through  for  yourself." 

She  led  the  way  light-heartedly,  he  following  close 


THE  HUSBAND  295 

after  her.  At  the  top  of  the  stairs  she  rapped  smartly 
at  one  of  the  doors,  then  moved  away  immediately  with 
the  gracious  observation :  "  I  am  almost  famished — we 
were  scarcely  able  to  dine  to-night.  You'll  find  me  in  the 
hall." 

And  there  he  joined  her  some  five  minutes  later,  his 
face  shining  with  the  nearest  expression  to  that  of 
joyousness  of  which  it  was  capable.  They  found  a 
cosy  little  table,  prettily  laden  with  wine  and  fruit,  in 
one  of  the  smaller  supper-rooms,  just  beneath  a  charm- 
ing little  Turner — a  gift  of  Preston's  for  the  new  house. 
The  remembrance  of  the  fact  would  have  sufficed  to 
make  May  change  to  another  table,  but,  although  the 
picture  caught  her  eye  now  and  again,  she  was  too 
absorbed  in  the  moment  to  notice  the  omen. 

So  here  they  sat  talking  and  waiting  patiently.  At 
intervals  of  ten  minutes  a  fresh  man  approached,  and  to 
him  they  repeated  their  choice  from  the  menu.  But 
nothing  ever  came  of  it.  However,  they  sipped  wine 
and  crumbled  bread  contentedly,  May  making  merry  at 
the  delay,  notwithstanding  her  sharp-set  appetite.  For 
she  was  now  possessed  by  a  pleasant  half-fatigue  which 
made  her  lazily  yield  herself  to  an  instinctive  flow  of 
gaiety  and  laughter.  She  was  living  intensely  in  the 
present — even  to  the  exclusion  of  the  immediately  pre- 
ceding present.  And  the  strange  luminous  web  of  colour 
shone  down  at  them  mystically  from  the  canvas  above! 

At  last  soup  was  brought,  and  they  ate  it  mechanically. 
Roburne  had  expanded  by  now ;  he  was  enlarging  on  his 
political  prospects.  Even  in  his  comparatively  humble 
position,  he  explained,  he  had  an  occasional  finger  in  the 
destinies  of  the  great  British  Empire. 

"  Only  to-day,  for  example,  Skcffington  dictated  a 
letter  on  which  the  most  critical  issues  depended.  Of 
course  you  will  understand,  my  dear  little  girl,  that  I 
cannot  breathe  a  word  of  its  nature  even  to  you.  Now 
you  know  what  a  fine  old  crusty  temper  Skcffington  has 


296  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

been  blessed  with,  and  how  ready  he  is  to  fly  at  anybody 
and  everybody.  But  I've  long  since  learnt  how  to 
manage  him,  and  evidently  he  must  have  a  great  deal  of 
respect  for  my  judgment.  For  no  sooner  had  he  finished 
— it  wouldn't  at  all  have  done  to  interrupt  him  before 
that — than  I  ventured  to  put  my  view  of  the  case  to 
him." 

"  Did  he  fly  at  you?  "  asked  May  breathlessly.  "  Tell 
me  quick ! " 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Roburne.  "  He  LISTENED  !  Just 
think — the  autocrat  who  will  never  hear  a  word  from 
anybody  actually  listened !  I  felt  that  was  a  good  sign, 
and  somehow  I  thought  of  you." 

"  But  what  had  I  to  do  with  it?  "  she  asked  innocently, 
her  eyes  resting  full  upon  his  face. 

"  You  had  everything  to  do  with  it,"  he  declared, 
adoring  her  with  his  look.  "  In  my  heart  I  knew  my 
inspiration  had  come  from  you,  and  I  felt  my  confidence 
growing.  I  could  scarcely  make  you  understand  how 
self -distrustful  I  usually  am.  Well,  the  upshot  of  the 
matter  was  that,  after  a  little  friendly  discussion,  Skef- 
fington  altered  the  letter — from  beginning  to  end! — ac- 
cording to  my  ideas.  Such  a  thing  is  absolutely  un- 
precedented." 

"  Then  I,  too,  have  influenced  the  destinies  of  the  Brit- 
ish Empire !  How  glorious !  "  She  clapped  her  hands. 

"  My  dear  little  girl !  "  he  repeated  fervently,  though 
he  was  uneasily  aware  that  she  was  taking  it  all  in  a 
merry,  jesting  spirit.  It  was  a  relief,  however,  to  think 
that  she  wasn't  laughing  at  him  in  the  least,  and  that  she 
was  really  as  sympathetic  as  he  could  wish.  All  the 
same  he  felt  his  beginning  had  miscarried,  and  that  he 
hadn't  at  all  succeeded  in  striking  the  right  note,  and 
that  in  fact  it  had  been  kind  of  her  not  to  laugh  at  him. 
He  hesitated  a  moment,  then  launched  out  again  in  a 
vein  whose  seriousness  could  not  be  mistaken,  his  voice 
trembling  with  eager  emotion. 


THE  HUSBAND  297 

"  May  I  confess  it  is  my  dream  that  you  may  play 
a  really  brilliant  part  in  the  affairs  of  our  country." 

"  What  a  charming  idea !  "  she  exclaimed  softly. 

"  You  can  do  anything  you  please  in  life,"  he  whis- 
pered in  an  enthusiastic  burst  of  adulation.  "  You  are 
the  cleverest  girl  in  the  kingdom,  and  the  most  beautiful ! 
For  the  man  who  had  your  help  nothing  would  be  im- 
possible. Is  it  too  daring  of  me  to  think  of  winning 
you?  You  are  so  wonderful — I  want  to  worship  you 
always.  You  are  dearer  to  me  than  life  itself.  Say  you 
will  be  my  wife,  dear — I  know  I  don't  deserve  you,  but 
you  would  pity  me  if  you  only  knew  how  I  have  suffered, 
in  what  a  fever  of  torment  I  have  been  living.  I  have 
sometimes  felt  as  if  I  could  punch  my  own  head  for 
daring  to  aspire  to  you." 

This  pugilistically-phrased  announcement  was  purged 
to  lyric  value  by  its  ardent  passion.  She  was  looking  at 
him  softly,  and  though  an  outsider  might  hardly  have 
guessed  it,  she  had  barely  control  of  herself. 

"  It  is  my  dearest  wish  to  make  you  happy,"  she  said 
simply.  There  was  an  infinite  tenderness  in  her  look 
and  voice. 

"  You  are  good,"  he  breathed,  overwhelmed.  "  Believe 
me,  dearest,  I  shall  strive  that  my  whole  life  may  be 
worthy  of  you,  that  you  may  never  regret  your  decision." 

"  I  am  sure  of  that,"  she  exclaimed.  "  I  shall  be  proud 
of  my  husband !  " 

u  Dear  May,  you  make  me  long  for  the  brave  days  of 
old,"  he  broke  out  enthusiastically.  "  I  should  chal- 
lenge every  knight  in  the  country  to  confess  my  lady  was 
the  fairest  in  the  world." 

"  And  for  me  you  are  as  gallant  a  knight  as  ever 
lived." 

"  Thank  you,  sweet  May." 

There  was  a  silence.  They  were  looking  at  each  other, 
yet  both  were  considering,  realizing  the  new  relation 
between  them. 


298  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

"  I  am  so  happy,  darling,"  he  breathed  presently  out 
of  the  fulness  of  the  emotion.  "  I  love  you,  I  love 
you." 

"  I  wish  we  were  alone,  dearest,"  she  whispered  back ; 
"  in  some  strange,  silent,  beautiful  place  under  the  stars." 

"  Yes,"  he  chimed  in.  Then,  after  a  pause,  he  added : 
11 1  was  only  just  dreading  that  you  might  be  snatched 
away  from  me  at  any  moment." 

His  words  made  her  glance  round  the  room  quickly. 
The  tables  were  now  all  occupied,  and  there  was  a  cheer- 
ful buzz  of  voices,  a  clatter  of  crockery,  a  bustle  of 
servants.  She  wondered  if  her  sweetheart  and  herself 
had  made  themselves  conspicuous.  But  the  embarrassed 
emotion  which  had  accompanied  the  thought  died  away 
almost  immediately.  She  was  ashamed  of  having  ex- 
perienced it.  Was  he  not  her  gallant  knight  before  all 
the  world?  She  raised  her  head  proudly  with  an  almost 
involuntary  movement. 

But  she  suddenly  laughed  as  another  thought  occurred 
to  her.  "  What  a  comic  place,"  she  exclaimed,  "  for  a 
declaration  of  love !  " 

"  Oh,  you  don't  think  it  really  matters,"  he  said  with  a 
shade  of  uneasiness,  as  if  she  had  reproached  him.  "  I 
suppose  a  supper-room  is  as  good  a  place  as  any  other." 

"  I  can  imagine  a  more  romantic  one,"  she  smiled. 

"  Suppose  we  leave  it,"  he  suggested. 

"  Oh,"  she  laughed,  not  displeased  at  his  morbid  sus- 
ceptibility to  her  lightest  word,  "  I  was  only  joking. 
It  is  very  comfortable  here  after  all.  Please  give  me 
some  more  wine." 

He  had  an  inspiration.  "  Let  us  drink  to  our  own 
happiness." 

"  What  a  lovely  idea ! "  Her  eyes  sparkled  with 
pleasure. 

He  filled  up  their  glasses  from  the  foaming  gold- 
necked  bottle.  Surreptitiously  they  clinked  them  and 
raised  them  to  their  lips.  Then,  having  sipped,  they 


THE  HUSBAND  299 

as  surreptitiously  exchanged  glasses  and  sipped  again 
with  a  delicious  sense  of  mild  wickedness. 

They  dawdled  over  the  wine  a  minute  or  two  longer, 
then  they  rose,  and  he  took  her  upstairs. 

"  You  know,  dear,  I  really  ought  to  be  making  myself 
useful,"  she  reminded  him  on  the  way.  "  I  am  supposed 
to  be  seeing  that  all  the  poor  neglected  folk  find  their 
way  down-stairs  to  be  fed." 

"  Please  let  them  starve,"  he  begged,  pleasantly  sur- 
prised to  find  himself  inspired  to  humour. 

"  Oh,  well,  I  suppose  everybody  concerned  will  take  it 
for  granted  that  I'm  making  myself  as  useful  as  I  ought 
to  be,"  she  said  yieldingly.  "  So  I  mean  to  indulge 
in  the  luxury  of  being  weak  for  once  and  giving  way  to 
temptation." 

There  was  certainly  less  crush  on  the  staircase  now, 
with  so  many  people  in  the  supper-rooms,  but  the  draw- 
ing-room still  seemed  full.  So  they  carefully  avoided  it, 
and,  turning  back  past  the  band,  they  entered  one  of  the 
rooms  on  the  other  side  of  the  landing.  There  were  only 
a  few  people  sitting  about  just  then,  and,  not  long  after, 
the  lovers  suddenly  discovered  they  had  the  room  to 
themselves.  As,  however,  they  sat  facing  the  open  door 
in  full  view  of  the  band  and  of  all  passers-by,  no  par- 
ticular significance  could  have  reasonably  been  attrib- 
uted to  their  conversation — especially  having  regard  to 
the  hitherto  discreet  character  of  their  acquaintanceship. 


VIII 

HORTLY  after  three  in  the  morning,  Preston, 
who  had  stayed  to  smoke  a  quiet  pipe  with 
Hubert,  rose  to  bid  his  host  good-night.  Dur- 
ing those  pleasant  minutes,  passed  in  friendly 
silence  on  both  sides,  Preston  had  puffed  away,  as 
apparently  calm  and  unrelated  to  human  emotion  and 
passion  as  he  had  ever  appeared  in  his  life.  And  his 
hand-grip  was,  as  always,  a  consolation  to  Hubert  for 
the  burden  of  existence. 

Hubert  was  the  last  person  astir  in  the  house,  and, 
after  a  moment  of  idle,  vague  lounging,  he  made  his 
way  up  the  stairs,  extinguishing  the  last  lights  as  he 
went. 

Yes,  it  had  all  been  a  success !  The  majority  of 
their  guests  had  stayed  late ;  the  gathering,  as  the  hours 
had  gone  by  and  the  champagne  flowed,  having  taken 
on  a  perceptible  degree  of  animation.  Tongue-strings 
had  been  veritably  loosened,  faces  had  grown  flushed, 
laughter  had  made  itself  heard  on  all  sides.  And  as 
soon  as  the  word  had  flown  that  Almusa  was  about  to 
sing,  everybody  had  crushed  up  eagerly  to  the  drawing- 
room,  blocking  all  the  approaches.  Finally  a  hush  had 
fallen  over  the  house,  and  then,  suddenly,  the  magic 
voice  had  soared  out  with  a  wonderful  carolling  sweet- 
ness, that  held  them  all  enchanted.  Constance's  fame 
as  a  hostess  was  assured !  But  the  divinity  had  been 
more  than  gracious,  had  not  only  given  them  a  second 
piece,  but  had  thrown  in  a  final  morceau  that,  alas !  was 
all  too  short.  Great  personages  had  been  astonishingly 
cordial  to  the  members  of  the  household,  and  from 
Constance's  face  had  shone  a  subtle  radiation  as  of 

800 


THE  HUSBAND  301 

the  ecstasy  of  a  soul  in  Paradise.  Her  mother,  too,  had 
seemed  perfectly  dazed  at  breathing  the  same  air  with 
the  very  pick  of  the  inhabitants  of  those  "  fashionable- 
intelligence  "  columns  on  which  she  had  always  so  greed- 
ily nourished  herself. 

Hubert  felt  only  too  well  how  much  the  occasion  had 
meant  to  his  wife,  and  even  May's  warm  kiss  of  good- 
night, followed  by  two  more  unexpected  ones,  full  of 
deep  affection,  had  almost  made  him  wince.  Gwenny 
had  kissed  him  with  less  demonstration  (though  not  with 
less  tenderness),  but  to-night  he  had  only  appreciated 
that  the  more. 

And  now  at  last  the  world  had  settled  down  to  cool- 
ness and  to  silence.  Hubert  was  fatigued,  yet,  although 
the  feverish  sense  of  the  hours  that  had  passed  still  beat 
in  his  blood,  he  was  pleasurably  conscious  of  the  brood- 
ing night  without,  as  of  some  eternal  purity  charming 
the  tired  spirit  with  its  sweet  calm,  its  large  repose. 

Well,  the  affair  was  over.  It  was  the  first  of  the  kind 
in  his  house — it  should  be  the  last !  He  would  try  to  make 
the  most  of  the  few  hours  rest  before  him,  for  he  must 
be  at  his  chambers  as  early  as  usual. 

The  door  of  Constance's  bedroom  (which  was  immedi- 
ately above  the  drawing-room,  and  of  the  same  generous 
dimensions)  stood  unexpectedly  open,  and  Hubert  was 
surprised  at  the  dim  light  that  came  from  it.  But  just 
then  the  unmistakable  sound  of  an  almost  hysteric 
sobbing  startled  him  disagreeably.  In  great  alarm, 
he  advanced  into  the  room.  Constance,  huddled  in  a 
dressing-gown,  was  crouching  on  the  hearth-rug  before 
the  screened  fire-place,  her  back  against  a  low  arm-chair, 
her  head  bent  forward.  The  one  light  in  the  room,  set 
high  in  a  sconce  near  the  chimney,  shone  down  gently 
on  her  shaking  form. 

He  quickly  went  across  to  her,  but  the  thick  carpet 
muffled  his  footsteps,  and  she  did  not  look  up. 

He  stood  by  her  a  moment  in  wonder.     Across  the 


302  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

dark  spaces  of  the  room,  wherein  the  canopied  bed 
seemed  to  lose  itself,  glistened  the  long  yellow  silk  hang- 
ings of  the  three  windows.  The  immense  Empire  ward- 
robe, stiff  and  mellow,  with  classic  columns  and  chiselled 
golden  garlands,  loomed  vast  and  full  of  character  amid 
the  shadows.  The  creamy  panelling  of  the  walls 
stretched  dull  and  smooth,  and  the  rare  prints  and  water- 
sketches  that  hung  here  and  there  against  it,  each  in 
precious  isolation,  were  all  reduced  to  the  same  vague 
uniformity.  Again  the  deep  stillness  of  the  world  was 
wafted  on  his  senses  suddenly.  For  a  moment  he  knew 
that  he  was  very  dizzy  and  tired,  then  he  forgot  where 
he  was  and  what  he  was. 

Another  choking  sob  from  Constance  just  served  to 
avert  his  swoon.  The  sharpness  of  his  thoughts  and 
senses  were  abruptly  restored  to  him,  and  he  was  staring 
at  his  wife  and  instinctively  explaining  to  himself  that 
she  had  been  overwrought  by  the  excitement  of  the 
long  evening.  Impulsively  he  placed  his  hand  on  her 
hair. 

"  Constance !  "  he  called  softly. 

He  could  feel  her  shaking  with  renewed  sobbing. 

"  Oh,  Hubert,  Hubert,"  she  moaned.  "  It  is  terrible 
—terrible ! " 

"  I  fear  you  are  a  little  unstrung — you  need  rest." 

After  one  or  two  unsuccessful  efforts,  she  checked  her 
sobs  at  last.  "  Yes,  I  need  rest.  But  I  cannot  keep 
silent  any  longer.  Things  have  come  to  a  crisis." 

"  But  what  can  be  amiss?  "  he  gasped. 

He  still  stood  with  his  hand  on  her  hair.  She  raised 
herself  painfully,  slowly,  and  he  helped  her.  Then  she 
sank  into  the  chair. 

"  How  shall  I  tell  you,  Hubert  ?  The  poor  child ! — it 
is  too  horrible." 

His  heart  beat  with  anxiety,  despite  himself;  but  he 
kept  his  outward  calm. 

"  Speak,  dear,"  he  said  quietly.    "  Surely  nothing  can 


THE  HUSBAND  303 

have  befallen  either  of  the  children — not  any  accident 
since  they  said  good-night  to  me."  He  paused  a  moment 
in  bewilderment,  half  suspecting  she  was  the  victim  of 
some  hysteric  imagining.  She  was  still  silent.  "  Speak," 
he  said  again.  "  There  is  nothing  in  life  which  I  am  not 
steeled  to  bear." 

She  raised  her  tear-stained  face  to  his,  and  at  last 
jerked  the  truth  at  him. 

"  Gwenny  has  gone  over  to  Catholicism — she  has  only 
to  take  the  formal  steps.  She  has  been  under  the  influ- 
ence of  that  wicked  woman — that  Madame  Bartolozzi — 
for  years.  But  the  worst  of  the  business  is  that  she  is 
now  determined  to  take  the  vows." 

Hubert  stared  at  her  blankly. 

"  Don't  you  understand?  She  wants  to  bury  herself 
for  life  in  a  convent." 

"  Then  things  have  been  happening !  "  The  words 
were  less  addressed  to  her  than  himself. 

"  Gwenny  has  never  given  any  of  us  her  confidence. 
She  has  preferred  to  take  up  with  strangers.  She  has 
always  had  her  own  thoughts,  and,  oh ! — such  a  stubborn, 
iron  will !  I  should  never  have  believed  it." 

Plubert  drew  over  a  chair,  and  sat  so  as  to  face  her. 

"  My  dear  Constance,"  he  said,  hoping  his  own  calm 
reasonableness  would  extend  itself  to  her ;  "  I  have  been 
under  the  impression  that  you  were  all  perfectly  happy 
and  united.  Perhaps  it  is  my  fault  that  I  have  been  so 
blind.  But  I  am  all  in  the  dark.  Won't  you  tell  me 
briefly  what  has  been  going  on  ?  " 

"  God  knows  I  have  tried  to  do  my  best  for  the  chil- 
dren," she  broke  out,  as  if  unable  to  compose  herself 
for  the  reasonable  conversation  he  suggested.  "  Once 
upon  a  time  they  loved  me — now  Gwenny  disapproves 
of  me,  and  May  looks  down  on  me.  May  is  not  even 
civil  to  my  family." 

He  stared  at  her  again,  astounded  at  this  fuller  reve- 
lation of  a  divided  household. 


304  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

"  To  think  I  should  have  come  to  be  resented  as  a 
stranger  in  the  house  after  all  these  years !  "  she  ex- 
claimed, breaking  into  sobs  afresh.  "  Sooner  or  later 
that  had  to  come,  I  suppose.  Children  that  are  not  one's 
own  always  turn  against  one." 

"  Surely  things  are  not  so  black  as  you  see  them," 
urged  Hubert,  who  thought  it  possible  she  might  be 
taking  an  exaggerated  view  of  some  minor  dissension. 
"  You  are  over-fatigued,  and  not  quite  yourself.  There 
must  be  some  misunderstanding.  Our  girls  are  at  heart 
too  good  to  cherish  such  feelings  against  you." 

"  Things  are  as  I  tell  you,  Hubert.  I  see  them  only 
too  clearly.  Years  ago  I  felt  Gwenny  slipping  away 
from  my  influence,  and  now  what  I  have  always  dreaded 
has  come  at  last.  And  as  for  May,  I  repeat  she  despises 
me — I  am  not  well-connected  enough  for  her.  Oh,  I 
have  brought  it  on  myself — this  life  has  been  all  a 
mistake,  Hubert.  We  ought  never  to  have  come  to 
London." 

"  That  is  the  last  thing  I  should  have  expected  to  hear 
from  you,"  he  could  not  help  exclaiming. 

"  Ah,  Hubert,  you  do  not  know  what  misery  I  have 
had  to  endure  of  late.  We  had  a  scene  to-day,  all  to 
ourselves — at  the  last  moment  before  coming  down  to 
the  drawing-room.  Gwenny  declared  she  hated  the  whole 
business,  and  she  would  refuse  to  be  yoked  to  us  any 
longer.  She  wanted  to  go  to  you  at  once  and  make 
another  scene,  and  we  had  almost  to  go  down  on  our 
knees  to  implore  her  to  be  silent.  I  trembled  like  a  leaf, 
afraid  it  would  upset  you  too  much.  It  would  have  been 
a  catastrophe  if  people  had  had  to  be  turned  away  from 
our  door.  I  don't  know  how  I  ever  got  through  the 
evening — I  had  to  force  myself  to  forget  with  a  great 
brute  effort.  It  was  like  gulping  down  a  huge  bitter 
apple,  and  keeping  on  smiling." 

"  Ah,  you  managed  that  part  very  well  indeed.     And 


THE  HUSBAND  305 

now,  I  suppose,  follows  the  inevitable  indigestion."  He 
sought  to  touch  a  lighter  note,  but  in  vain. 

"  It  is  not  only  that,"  she  went  on  miserably.  "  I  feel 
that  something  is  radically  wrong  in  this  house.  Do  not 
think,  Hubert,  that  I  have  not  been  aware  your  life  has 
been  apart  from  ours.  If  I  had  only  had  the  courage 
not  to  have  kept  any  thought  from  you  at  the  beginning, 
I  should  have  had  a  clearer  conscience  now." 

Gradually  he  got  her  to  talk  more  freely.  In  the 
early  years  of  her  marriage,  she  and  May  had  been  firm 
friends,  though  even  then  she  had  had  a  resentful  sus- 
picion of  being  keenly  eyed  by  the  child  and  constantly 
weighed  in  the  balance.  As  for  Gwenny,  she,  from  the 
very  beginning,  had  held  herself  somewhat  aloof  from 
both  of  them. 

"  I  always  had  a  strange,  anxious  feeling  about  her — 
she  was  so  mystic  and  religious  and  awe-struck,  engaged 
in  inward  contemplations.  I  knew  she  didn't  care  about 
pleasure  as  other  girls  do,  and  even  when  she  did  allow 
herself  to  be  amused  a  little,  you  always  felt  that  under- 
neath she  wasn't  at  all  sure  she  wasn't  risking  her  soul. 
I  used  to  be  puzzled  what  quite  to  make  of  her,  and 
used  only  to  be  too  thankful  when  she  appeared  to  be 
getting  along  fairly  happily.  Of  course,  when  I  first 
came  to  understand  what  was  brewing  in  her  I  was  thun- 
derstruck. I  did  not  know  how  to  fight  it,  though  I 
did  my  utmost  to  win  her  over  to  me.  I  was  glad  when 
we  went  abroad — it  was  a  comfort  to  think  she  was  being 
taken  away  from  the  fascination  of  that  horrible  woman ! 
But  she  was  not  to  be  coerced  into  refusing  to  correspond 
with  her,  and  whilst  we  were  on  the  Continent,  she  sub- 
jected herself  wilfully  and  defiantly  to  every  influence 
that  could  deepen  her  religious  tendencies.  She  literally 
steeped  herself  in  Catholicism.  Still  I  did  not  really 
believe  she  would  throw  over  her  own  religion — I  pre- 
ferred to  think  the  whole  business  was  an  affectation 


306  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

on  her  part.  A  dangerous  one,  but  still  an  affectation. 
Afterwards  I  still  continued  to  receive  Madame  Barto- 
lozzi — I  thought  it  best  not  to  court  any  unpleasant- 
ness, but  to  let  things  just  glide  along  smoothly." 

"  But  surely,  from  what  you  tell  me  now,  you  have  all 
along  been  taking  rather  a  morbid  view  of  the  child's 
religious  leanings.  Why  attach  so  much  importance  to 
the  matter?  " 

"  A  morbid  view  ?  Is  faithlessness  to  one's  own  creed 
an  unimportant  matter?  " 

"  You  astonish  me ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  never  sus- 
pected you  felt  these  matters  of  religious  doctrine  so 
poignantly." 

"  I  have  always  felt  the  Church  more  than  you.  But 
I  shrank  from  asserting  myself.  You  were  always  so 
impartial,  and  I  dreaded  your  criticism." 

Her  words  made  him  wince.  He  had  never  then 
really  been  so  close  to  his  wife  as  he  had  imagined !  How 
pitifully  blind  he  had  been!  He  had  not  even  under- 
stood the  children!  A  sense  of  bewilderment  possessed 
him.  The  air  seemed  to  vibrate  with  revelations  to 
come. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  could  only  murmur.  "  I  am  sorry. 
I  wish  I  had  only  known !  " 

She  did  not  answer,  but  sat  brooding  miserably. 

"  Yet  Gwenny  has  accompanied  you  everywhere  since 
we  have  been  settled  in  London,"  he  found  himself  saying 
presently.  "  She  does  not  by  any  means  seem  to  have 
avoided  pleasure." 

"  She  took  *  going  out '  for  granted,  I  suppose,  as 
part  of  the  routine  of  a  girl's  life.  Besides,  she  no  doubt 
thought  you  wanted  them  both  to  go  into  society.  At 
the  same  time  I  am  sure  she  never  liked  it.  Once  before 
she  rebelled  openly,  and  since  then  she  has  sullenly  per- 
mitted herself  to  be  led.  I  was  in  hopes  that  the  ex- 
citement of  parties  and  dances  would  absorb  her,  and 


THE  HUSBAND  307 

wean  her  away  from  morbid  broodings  about  religion. 
But,  as  it  now  turns  out,  I  was  altogether  mistaken.  She 
hates  the  life  like  poison,  but,  so  far  as  possible,  she  did 
not  wish  to  make  herself  disagreeable  to  us  others.  Nat- 
urally she  could  not  lightly  violate  the  spirit  of  loyalty 
that  bound  her  to  May  and  myself." 

"  What  do  you  mean  exactly  by  that?  "  he  asked. 

"  There  was  a  spirit  of  loyalty  that  kept  us  together  in 
spite  of  all  antagonisms.  No  one  of  us  could  tear  herself 
away  from  the  others.  The  differences  between  us,  no 
matter  how  discordant  they  threatened  to  become,  were 
sacred  to  ourselves,  were  to  be  shielded  jealously  from 
every  eye,  and,  short  of  the  disruption  that  has  now 
occurred,  even  from  yours." 

"  I  see.  It  was  a  spirit  of  loyalty  that  naturally 
divided  the  house  into  two  camps,  according  to  sex." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  she  admitted,  hanging  her  head  mis- 
erably. 

"  But  Scripture  says  that  a  house  divided  against  itself 
cannot  stand,"  he  exclaimed  sternly. 

"  Every  house  inhabited  by  the  two  sexes  is  from  the 
start  divided  against  itself,"  she  insisted.  "  It  used  to  be 
the  same  in  my  father's  home,  and  it  is  the  same  every- 
where. The  banding  together,  as  against  one's  menkind, 
is  not  exactly  brought  about  consciously.  But  it  is  a 
reality  in  the  end,  and  one  tacitly  accepts  it." 

"  And  so  this  tacit  loyalty  has  hitherto  been  sufficient 
to  keep  poor  Gwenny  tied  on  to  you  and  May  ?  " 

"  I  needed  her  to  help  us  to  secure  our  position.  We 
were  on  our  trial  with  people,  and  the  three  of  us  were 
known  and  thought  of  and  spoken  of  together.  They 
formed  such  a  striking  contrast,  May  and  Gwenny,  and 
that  helped  to  impress  us  on  people's  minds.  If  Gwenny 
had  abandoned  us,  we  should  have  been  sadly  hampered. 
Our  individuality  as  a  social  unit  would  have  got  de- 
stroyed." 


308  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

"  Your  individuality  as  a  social  unit  would  have  got 
destroyed !  "  repeated  Hubert.  "  So  it  has  come  to 
that!" 

"  Don't  look  at  me  so  bitterly,  Hubert,  please,"  she 
begged  hoarsely,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands.  "  I 
know  what  you  are  thinking  of  me,  and  I  de- 
serve it." 

"  Constance,"  he  said  more  gently.  "  Please  don't 
imagine  that  I  am  reproaching  you.  But  once  upon  a 
time  we  used  to  look  freely  into  each  other's  minds  and 
hearts;  now,  even  when  we  are  closest  together,  our 
minds  are  quite  out  of  touch.  I  welcome  even  this 
painful  conversation — don't  you  see  it  unites  us  again?  " 

"  Yes,  dear,  it  makes  me  distinctly  happier  to  be  open- 
ing my  heart  to  you." 

"  In  the  days  when  I  first  knew  you,  your  ideas  of  life 
were  other  than  they  are  now,"  he  went  on  in  quiet 
pursuance  of  his  theme.  "  Of  course,  everybody's  ideas 
change  more  or  less,  but  isn't  it  ironic  to  recall  that,  in 
the  glow  of  youth,  you  used  to  declaim  against  what  was 
known  to  both  of  us  as  '  the  Philistine  life.' ' 

"  I  know  what  you  wish  to  lead  up  to,  Hubert.  Per- 
haps our  thoughts  of  late  have  been  more  in  harmony 
than  you  imagine.  Do  not  suppose  that  I  never  watch 
myself.  Whatever  my  life  may  have  become  in  practice, 
my  old  girlish  self  has  not  entirely  died  away.  I  know 
that  I  have  become  transformed  into  a  Philistine  of  the 
Philistines ;  I  know  that  the  transformation  began  years 
ago  at  Lynford.  Theoretically,  my  contempt  for  the 
conventional,  selfish  life  was  unabated,  but  somehow  my 
watchful  self  got  lulled  into  a  sort  of  torpor.  Recollect 
I  had  always  lived  in  a  wretched  way  from  hand  to 
mouth,  and  that  at  last  I  found  myself  on  a  bed  of  roses. 
I  was  so  happy  to  be  settled  in  life,  and  everybody  was 
so  kind  and  cordial  that  my  own  individuality  got  swal- 
lowed up.  I  felt  myself  slipping,  slipping;  yielding, 
yielding.  It  was  so  much  easier  to  become  one  of  the 


THE  HUSBAND  309 

crowd — to  do,  to  think,  and  to  like  what  everybody  else 
did,  thought  and  liked.  After  my  rough  experiences  as 
an  outcast,  prosperity  was  fatal  to  me.  And  so  I  have 
grown  middle-aged  and  stupid — and  snobbish!  You 
would  be  justified  in  thinking  that  I  haven't  a  soul  now 
above  Debrett" 

"  My  poor  Constance,"  he  murmured,  struck  with  the 
pathos  of  her  acute  self -perception.  "  You  are  hard  on 
yourself." 

"  There  was  always  a  spark  in  me  that  never  quite 
died  out,"  she  insisted  again,  as  if  seeking  comfort  in  the 
thought.  Then,  suddenly  raising  her  voice  piteously: 
"  Oh,  why  didn't  you  beat  me  out  of  my  stupidity ! 
You  never  said  a  word — you  simply  signed  cheques  and 
retired  into  your  shell.  And  I  have  been  clinging  to 
things  as  they  are,  so  desperately  of  late.  The  life  al- 
ways fascinated  me — it  fascinates  me  horribly  now.  I 
do  not  know  if  I  have  the  strength  to  extricate  myself 
from  it." 

"  The  mere  form  of  existence  matters  little,  so  long  as 
one's  soul  is  not  enslaved.  I  am  convinced  there  are 
people  who,  whilst  appearing  to  be  part  of  the  fashion- 
able whirl,  have  never  surrendered  their  inner  selves  and 
live  ideal  lives." 

"  Ah,  but  it  is  dangerous  to  coquet  with  the  form 
unless  one  is  very  strong.  The  form  is  of  iron.  It 
crushes  most  people — into  a  sort  of  jelly." 

"  You  remind  me  now  of  your  old  girlish  self,"  he  said, 
smiling.  "  I  used  to  be  charmed  by  your  pathetic  bright 
way  of  putting  things,  and  now  you  give  me  a  touch  of 
it  again.  If  only  you  could  become  your  old  self 
again '  " 

Constance  let  her  head  drop  forward;  her  hands  lay 
listlessly  on  her  lap.  She  had  grown  quieter  now,  and 
was  speaking  more  easily  and  naturally.  There  was  a 
long  pause,  during  which  both  were  sunk  in  reflection. 

"  So  you  have  not  been  happy,"  murmured  Hubert  at 


310  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

length.  "  Neither  you  nor  Gwenny — nor  even  May, 
perhaps,"  he  added. 

"  Oh — May !  I  don't  think  she  allows  anything  to 
trouble  her  very  much.  The  chief  drawback  to  her 
happiness  is  the  fear  that  it'll  one  day  get  about  I  was 
only  a  touring  actress.  Don't  think,  Hubert,  I  am  un- 
just to  her.  I  have  always  loved  and  worshipped  her, 
but  she  has  made  me  suffer.  She  thinks  I  did  you  a  great 
wrong  in  marrying  you.  I  call  you  to  witness  that  I 
refused  you,  that  I  resisted  with  all  the  strength  I  was 
capable  of." 

"  She  is  more  to  be  pitied  than  blamed,"  said  Hubert. 
"  She  is  so  high-spirited  a  child,  and  I  ought  not  to  have 
allowed  her  to  escape  so  soon  from  my  personal  control. 
Yet  I  still  cannot  believe  that  all  I  thought  I  had 
built  up  in  her  mind  was  so  entirely  submerged  as  soon  as 
she  went  out  into  the  world.  And  all  this  time  I  have 
been  acquiescing  in  whatever  course  it  seemed  good  to  you 
all  to  adopt,  simply  because  I  imagined  you  were  all  so 
perfectly  happy.  I  shall  talk  to  the  child — things  must 
be  thoroughly  threshed  out." 

"  But  we  must  think  of  Gwenny  first,"  she  cried.  "  We 
must  save  her,  Hubert.  Time  enough  to  deal  with  the 
other  one  afterwards." 

He  did  not  answer,  being  again  immersed  in  thought. 

"  Oh,  Hubert,"  she  cried  suddenly.  "  How  pale  and 
worn  you  are!  And  what  horrible  lines  there  are  on 
your  face !  I've  been  mad.  I've  been  a  selfish  brute.  I 
have  never  been  the  wife  to  you  at  all  you  had  a  right 
to  expect,  the  wife  you  deserved  to  have.  I  see  how  you 
have  silently  sacrificed  yourself  and  your  ideals  to  me,  to 
the  girls.  You  have  always  given,  given,  given ;  and  we 
— we  have  always  accepted  thoughtlessly,  callously.  We 
have  left  you  solitary  to  bear  all  the  burden  on  your 
poor  back.  How  we  have  let  you  slave  and  slave !  This 
great  expensive  house — ugh !  And  our  dressmakers'  and 
milliners'  bills !  Flabby  fool  I  have  been !  Oh,  why 


THE  HUSBAND  311 

were  you  so  sweet-natured  with  us  all?  O  my  guilty 
conscience !  O  my  guilty  conscience  !  I  have  been  blind 
to  your  wasted  frame,  your  sunken  cheeks.  I  would 
give  the  rest  of  my  life  away,  Hubert,  if  only  I  could  re- 
call the  mischief  I  have  done." 

"  You  exaggerate,"  he  said  soothingly.  "  My  health 
is  tolerably  good,  and  as  for  work,  I  have  been  caught  up 
in  the  swirl  of  professional  life.  In  any  case  I  should 
have  done  the  same  work  and  earned  the  same  money." 

"  No,  no,  you  are  too  indulgent.  I  hate  myself  when 
I  think  of  all  you  have  done  for  me  and  all  you  have 
been  to  me.  Hubert,  I  want  to  be  the  ideal  wife  to  you 
in  future." 

"  I  believe  in  you,"  he  said  simply.  "  We  shall  all 
be  inspired  for  the  best." 

"  Thank  you,  Hubert.  I  shall  try  to  be  worthy  of 
your  generous  trust.  Your  happiness  is  what  I  shall 
hold  most  dear  in  life.  Only  tell  me  I  have  not  forfeited 
your  love." 

"  My  feelings  towards  you  are  the  same  as  they  were." 

"  Ah,  Hubert,  I  don't  quite  like  the  way  you  put  it," 
she  protested,  in  an  access  of  suspicion.  "  Your  words 
may  imply  I  have  never  had  your  love." 

"  My  words  had  no  such  subtle  intention,"  he  assured 
her. 

"  Still,  when  I  come  to  look  back,"  she  persisted,  "  I 
don't  see  how  you  could  have  had  any  real  love  for  a 
woman  such  as  I.  Now  that  we  are  opening  our  hearts, 
I  want  you  to  search  yours  and  tell  me  the  truth." 

He  was  silent,  perplexed ;  not  perceiving  quickly 
enough  that  she,  woman-like,  had  set  her  mind  working 
on  a  side-issue,  vital  to  her,  and  that  she  was  longing  to 
hear  him  passionately  contradict  her. 

"  You  do  not  answer,"  she  exclaimed  excitedly.  "  You 
do  not  answer.  Of  course  you  did  not  love  me.  I 
have  always  known  the  truth  in  my  heart,  though  care- 
fully cherishing  the  delusion  in  my  brain.  Poor  Hubert, 


ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

you  did  not  know  what  love  was.  But  the  delusion  meant 
everything  to  me.  Do  you  know  why  I  have  no  children 
of  my  own?  "  she  went  on,  with  a  renewed  hysteric  vehe- 
mence that  made  him  wince.  "  I  made  up  my  mind  when 
I  married  you  that  I  should  deny  myself  children  because 
of  your  great  love  for  these — these  that  are  neither 
yours  nor  mine !  And  I  have  abided  by  my  determina- 
tion. I  dreamt  of  our  common  life  flowing  on  so  happily 
and  ideally.  I  wanted  May  and  Gwenny  to  have  every- 
thing undivided,  and  I  dreaded  the  discords  and  possible 
bitternesses  that  might  be  occasioned  by  the  intrusion  of 
other  little  ones." 

Her  voice,  more  hoarse  than  before,  modulated  itself 
tragically,  was  soft  with  tenderness,  rose  with  passion. 
Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  him  now,  and  her  face  flashed 
with  vivid  expressions  that  thrilled  him  with  their  in- 
tensity. 

He  watched  her,  fascinated;  as  what  she  was  saying 
sank  into  him  slowly  and  then  flared  into  meaning. 
When  she  had  finished  an  answering  flood  of  words  rushed 
to  his  lips,  and  he  did  not  stop  to  weigh  them. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  true.  I  see  now  that  I  married  you  for 
the  children's  sake.  They  needed  somebody  to  be  a 
mother  to  them.  The  intensity  with  which  I  sought  my 
purpose  blinded  me,  deceived  me  into  imagining  I  was  a 
young  man  wooing  a  bride.  I  wanted  no  love  for  my- 
self. The  springtide  of  life  had  long  since  passed,  and 
my  hand  had  almost  lost  the  instinct  of  the  caress — for 
all  save  the  children." 

"  Ah,"  she  exclaimed,  her  voice  ringing  bitter  and 
triumphant.  "  I  knew  it,  I  knew  it." 

He  had  risen  to  his  feet  under  the  stress  of  the  mo- 
ment. 

"  But  listen,  Constance,"  he  urged.  "  I  care  for  you 
now,  indeed,  very  much." 

She  looked  up  with  passionate  eyes  into  his  gentle, 


THE  HUSBAND  313 

careworn  face.  Then  she,  too,  rose  and  staggered  into 
his  arms. 

"  We  shall  keep  together  now,  dear,  for  the  rest  of 
life,"  she  whispered. 

"  Ah,  yes.     We  shall  set  our  house  in  order  together." 

"  You  shall  decide,  dear.    Your  will  shall  be  mine." 

"  Let  us  go  back  to  the  old  home.  The  country  will 
be  gloriously  fresh,  and  the  hill-sides  green  and  sweet. 
There  we  can  rest  and  plan  out  our  lives  anew." 

"  Yes — the  old  home !  It  is  full  of  happy  memories  !  " 
Her  eyes  sparkled  eagerly.  "  We  must  throw  this  night- 
mare off  our  shoulders.  You  must  work  less,  Hubert, 
in  future." 

"  Listen,  darling.  I  have  realized  of  late  that  I  hate 
my  profession — in  my  heart  I  have  always  been  doubtful 
about  it.  I  somehow  feel  it  has  kept  me  stifled.  When 
I  was  young  the  call  of  humanity  sounded  in  my  ears, 
but,  as  the  years  raced  by,  it  grew  fainter  and  fainter. 
Now  it  surges  up  once  more  through  my  very  blood.  I 
swear  to  you  I  am  sincere.  It  is  not  a  small  still  voice  I 
hear — it  is  a  desolate  cry  that  deepens  and  deepens. 
Only  the  other  day  I  went  to  a  Spitalfields  doss-house  to 
succour  an  old  fellow-student  whose  life  broke  down  long 
ago.  My  soul  was  shaken  to  its  depths.  It  was  all  a 
terrible  reminder  to  me  how  barren  my  years  had  been  of 
generous  endeavour.  I  have  searched  my  heart  and  con- 
science, and  I  cannot  keep  still  any  longer.  My  soul  flies 
to  the  outcast  and  the  submerged.  By  giving  up  my 
profession  now  I  should  be  left  free  to  follow  the  life  of 
service.  We  should  be  able  to  live  simply  ourselves,  and 
have  something  to  spare  for  others.  Have  I  your  sanc- 
tion, Constance?  " 

"  Let  us  work  hand-in-hand,  dearest ;  let  us  follow  it 
together — the  life  of  service !  " 

His  arms  were  still  round  her.  "  Come  closer  to  me, 
darling,"  he  whispered,  and  held  her  to  his  heart. 


IX 

7t  /¥  AY  slept  late  after  the  fatigue  and  excite- 

/  i/m  ment  of  the  party,  and,  when  she  came  down 
^/  f  _M  at  last,  she  found  that  the  others  had  al- 
ready breakfasted,  Hubert  having  gone  to 
his  chambers  ever  so  long  before.  Constance  was  alone 
in  the  room  reading  the  newspaper. 

The  girl  took  her  seat  and  then  noticed  a  letter  for 
her  lying  on  the  table.  She  could  not  help  reddening  as 
she  saw  the  handwriting.  Moreover  Constance  looked  up 
from  her  paper  just  then,  and.  smiling  significantly, 
informed  her  that  a  messenger  had  brought  the  letter  an 
hour  before. 

May  did  not  like  this  display  of  interest  in  her  affairs. 
She  was  athrill  with  her  big  secret — for  she  had  consented 
not  to  breathe  a  word  about  their  engagement  to  any- 
body till  her  fiance  should  have  communicated  with  his 
father.  But,  even  apart  from  that,  she  would  have  been 
strangely  shy  of  sharing  it  as  yet  with  any  one  else.  It 
was  clear  that  Constance  must  have  recognized  the 
writing  on  the  envelope,  so  that  her  meaning  smile  re- 
vealed the  existence  in  her  mind  of  at  least  some  sus- 
picion as  to  what  was  happening. 

However,  Constance  presently  resumed  her  reading, 
and  May  boldly  tore  open  the  envelope  and  read  the 
letter. 

"  DEAREST,"  it  ran ;  "  I  have  a  very  big  favour  to  ask 
of  you.  I  know  you  will  not  refuse,  but,  all  the  same, 
I  shall  appreciate  your  compliance  more  than  I  can  ex- 
press to  you.  My  request  is  that  you  agree  to  consider 
our  engagement  a  secret  even  longer  than  we  agreed 

314 


THE  HUSBAND  315 

last  night — till  the  end  of  the  parliamentary  session,  in 
fact.  If  I  were  not  tied  to  town,  matters  would  be  dif- 
ferent, for  I  could  run  down  and  see  my  father  at 
once.  As  perhaps  you  know,  my  father  has  always 
ruled  in  his  family  with  a  very  stern  hand.  So,  after 
further  consideration,  I  don't  at  all  care  to  arrange  so 
vital  a  matter  by  correspondence.  It  is  hard  to  foresee 
how  he  might  take  the  announcement.  He  might  ex- 
press himself  delighted,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  might 
capriciously  make  up  his  mind  to  stand  against  our 
engagement,  and  withdraw  all  the  support  on  which  I 
am  relying  for  my  career.  He  is  wealthy  and  intends  to 
deal  liberally  with  me,  so  that,  for  a  younger  son,  I 
shall  hardly  have  reason  to  complain.  But,  I  fear,  he 
has  always  had  ideas  of  his  own  about  my  marriage.  Of 
course,  dearest  one,  if  he  really  knew  you,  he  would 
worship  you  as  I  do,  but,  as  his  acquaintance  with  you 
is  merely  superficial,  he  is  more  likely  than  not  to  be 
upset  by  a  sudden  letter  from  me — to  say  nothing  of  any 
rumour  that  might  come  to  him  independently.  What  I 
purpose  is  to  run  home  as  soon  as  I  am  free  to  leave 
town — it  will  be  so  much  more  politic  for  me  to  tell 
him  personally  of  our  attachment  and  beg  his  consent." 

She  stopped  to  turn  the  page,  and  became  aware  that 
her  hand  was  trembling  nervously.  "  But  what  if  he 
should  oppose  the  marriage  even  then ! "  her  lips  almost 
murmured.  Her  face  had  grown  white.  She  glanced 
apprehensively  towards  Constance,  who,  luckily,  was  still 
buried  in  her  newspaper.  But  the  letter  seemed  to  an- 
ticipate the  girl's  thought,  for  it  ran  on  as  follows — 

"  Not  that  I  have  the  least  fear  that  any  real  difficulty 
will  arise.  I  know  my  father.  He  is  scrupulously  fair- 
minded,  and,  in  spite  of  all  his  reputation  to  the  con- 
trary, almost  as  tender-hearted  as  a  woman.  He  won't 
withhold  his  sympathy,  and,  once  he  has  given  his  con- 
sent, he'll  be  a  thousand  times  the  more  anxious  for  our 
happiness.  Only  he  has  always  insisted  on  things  going 


316  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

his  way,  and  so  I  must  go  through  the  form  of  consult- 
ing him  first.  As  I've  already  said,  far  too  much  de- 
pends on  the  issue  for  me  to  risk  a  letter.  I  hope, 
darling,  you  are  not  the  least  bit  fatigued  this  morning. 
What  a  delightful  hostess  Mrs.  Ruthven  is!  And  you 
were  perfectly  beautiful  and  perfectly  charming !  With 
deepest  and  truest  love. 

"  Ever  your  sweetheart,  ARTHUR. 
"  P.S.     I  am  so  happy,  dearest." 

Her  misgivings  vanished  before  her  confidence.  His 
concluding  sentences  made  her  eyes  sparkle  and  her 
heart  beat  faster.  She  found  herself  dwelling  on  them 
with  eager  pleasure.  It  was  wonderful  that  a  few  simple 
phrases  should  sink  so  deeply  into  her,  should  stir  her 
with  exquisite  delight. 

But  for  the  absurdity  of  such  a  proceeding  in  tht 
presence  of  Constance,  she  would  have  kissed  the  lettc? 
there  and  then— with  an  impulsive  tenderness  that  seemea 
to  spring  from  the  very  depths  of  her  soul.  She  realized 
she  was  desperately  attached  to  her  chosen  husband. 
That  terrible  pride  of  hers  was  at  last  humbled.  She 
was  as  if  tied  hand  and  foot ! 

She  would  have  liked  to  read  the  letter  again  from  the 
beginning,  but  she  struggled  against  the  longing,  and 
put  the  sheets  back  into  the  envelope,  which  she  let  lie 
with  apparent  carelessness  beside  her  plate.  Heroically 
she  swallowed  some  breakfast,  eating  with  studied  leisure, 
and  lingering  at  the  table  as  if  she  were  not  dying  to 
slip  away.  She  wanted  to  be  alone  with  her  thoughts, 
to  reread  the  letter  as  often  as  she  pleased,  to  feast  her 
eyes  on  the  words  that  kept  echoing  in  her  mind,  and 
from  the  contemplation  of  which,  however  her  mind 
might  wander  for  a  moment,  she  could  not  tear  herself. 
"  And  you  were  perfectly  beautiful  and  perfectly  charm- 
ing! And  you  were  perfectly  beautiful  and  perfectly 
charming ! " 


THE  HUSBAND  317 

She  had  sufficient  command  of  herself  to  ask  Con- 
stance if  there  was  any  special  news  in  the  paper. 

"  Well,  see  for  yourself,"  and  Constance  passed  her 
The  Morning  Post.  Then  rising,  glancing  at  the  clock, 
and  moving  towards  the  door ;  "  By  the  way,  there's  only 
a  short  paragraph  about  our  affair  last  night,"  she 
added.  "  You'll  find  it  in  small  type  at  the  bottom  of  a 
column." 

By  lunch-time  May  had  her  answer  ready  for  posting. 
She  accepted  absolutely,  she  assured  her  Arthur,  what- 
ever seemed  best  to  him,  and  their  secret  should  be  as 
safe  as  if  it  had  been  entrusted  to  the  deep  sea.  "  And 
by  the  way,  dearest,"  she  went  on,  "  I  think  I  ought  to 
take  the  opportunity  of  telling  you  how  I  stand.  Now 
that  I  have  written  it,  my  last  sentence  reads  rather 
strangely.  I  mean  my  financial  standing — at  least  I 
think  that's  what  people  call  it.  Parents  are  proverbially 
business-minded  when  their  children's  marriages  are 
concerned,  and  in  case  your  father  should  desire  to  know 
what  I  am  bringing  by  way  of  fortune,  it  is  best  I 
should  explain  at  once.  An  old  legacy  of  five  thousand 
pounds  has  since,  by  accumulations  of  interest,  become 
more  than  seven,  and  another  thousand  pounds,  at  least, 
has  been  put  aside  for  me  by  my  uncle  himself — or 
rather,  that  is  what  I  have  understood  the  last  few  years. 
I  have  no  doubt  that  my  uncle  will  be  as  generous  as  he 
possibly  can,  still  I  can  scarcely  claim  to  be  bringing  you 
much  of  a  fortune.  When  I  was  a  foolish  little  child  I 
thought  I  had  become  immensely  rich;  now,  I  suppose, 
I  may  just  regard  myself  as  a  genteel  sort  of  pauper." 


POOR  Constance  was  scarcely  able  to  keep  herself 
up  to  the  heroic  pitch  at  which  she  had  arrived 
in  the  opening  of  hearts  between  her  and  Hu- 
bert. 

Her  backsliding,  however,  was  venial.  In  spite  of  her 
earnest  desire  to  see  as  he  saw  and  to  think  as  he 
thought,  the  modes  of  feeling  that  had  been  created  in 
her  all  these  years  could  not  be  conquered  so  abruptly. 
Thus,  when  Hubert  returned  home  in  the  evening,  Con- 
stance could  not  help  intercepting  him  in  the  hall,  and 
pointing  with  irrepressible  excitement  to  the  piles  of 
cards  that  had  been  left  at  the  door.  But  he  merely 
smiled  in  good-humoured  comprehension.  Nor  did  he 
take  it  amiss  when  he  found  she  had  been  thinking  over 
things  all  day  and  was  already  showing  a  desire  for  com- 
promise. Not  that  she  was  the  less  reconciled  to  beating 
a  quiet  and  honourable  retreat  from  fashionable  life.  But 
she  was  now  anxious  that  nothing  should  be  altered  till 
the  end  of  the  season ! 

She  was  ready  with  several  excellent  common-sense 
arguments  in  support  of  her  suggestion.  There  would 
be  little  gained  by  an  immediate  clean  cut  through 
everything,  so  they  might  as  well  avoid  the  attention 
they  must  necessarily  attract  to  themselves  by  their  adop- 
tion of  that  policy.  Moreover,  they  were  deeply  en- 
tangled— what  with  social  engagements  and  all  sorts  of 
semi-friendships ;  and,  as  people  had  been  so  very  nice 
to  them,  they,  on  their  part,  ought  not  to  do  anything 
which  might  appear  to  savour  of  rudeness  or  unfriendli- 
ness. They  could  scarcely  explain  themselves  to  all  and 
sundry,  and  it  would  be  hateful  to  have  to  invent  suitable 

818 


THE  HUSBAND  319 

fibs.  Whereas,  by  waiting  till  the  end  of  the  season, 
they  could  sublet  the  house  and  slip  away  quietly. 

As  Hubert  had  already  once  looked  at  the  position  in 
a  similar  light,  and  had  of  himself  been  inspired  to 
adopt  the  very  policy,  he  was  content  not  to  offer  any 
opposition  to  this  desire  of  hers.  But,  when  Constance 
attempted  to  follow  up  her  advantage  by  begging  that, 
in  the  meanwhile,  May  should  remain  "  unmolested,"  he 
would  not  concede  this  new  point  there  and  then,  saying 
he  must  consider  further,  though  for  that  evening  at 
least  he  would  promise  to  remain  silent. 

And  so,  indeed,  the  dinner  passed  without  a  word 
being  said  that  might  rouse  the  girls  to  suspicion  that 
anything  had  happened  between  the  elders.  Constance 
had  to  content  herself  for  the  moment  with  the  one  point 
she  had  scored.  But  she  was  still  in  a  terrible  dilemma. 
She  found  herself,  in  fact,  unexpectedly  at  the  helm,  and 
the  steering  was  of  the  most  difficult.  And,  greatly  to 
her  sorrow,  there  were  one  or  two  reservations  she 
saw  herself  already  forced  to  make  from  her  hus- 
band. 

In  pleading  that  they  might  be  allowed  to  continue 
as  they  were  for  the  present,  she  had  had  to  keep  back 
the  most  potent  reason  of  all — though  she  was  by  no 
means  insincere  in  the  reasons  she  did  put  forward.  It 
was  perfectly  true  that  she  feared  to  attract  attention — 
it  made  her  sick  and  giddy  to  think  of  the  talk  there 
might  be!  When  people  once  began  to  talk,  there  was 
no  knowing  what  it  might  lead  to.  Things  might  be 
raked  up  about  herself!  She  was  not  very  proud  of  her 
own  personal  history,  and  though  she  resented  she  yet 
shared  May's  contempt  for  it.  And  then  there  were  one 
or  two  chapters  in  that  history  with  which  even  May  was 
unacquainted. 

But  these,  after  all,  were  merely  minor  considerations ; 
the  great  point  was  to  handle  things  so  that  May's  mar- 
riage might  not  be  imperilled.  Constance  was  well  aware 


320  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

the  courtship  was  proceeding — Lady  Wycliffe  had  given 
her  more  than  one  strong  hint  to  that  effect.  She  herself 
was  taking  a  real  maternal  interest  in  the  affair,  had 
tasted  all  the  excitement  and  the  joy  of  prospective 
triumph  with  which  a  society  mother  contemplates  the 
attentions  paid  to  her  "  child  "  by  an  eminently  satis- 
factory parti.  All  the  woman  in  her  bristled  up  at  the 
bare  idea  of  endangering  so  promising  a  match — she 
would  rather  have  died  than  have  had  it  ruthlessly  foiled. 
Indeed,  she  found  herself  regretting  now  that  she  had 
said  to  Hubert  anything  at  all  to  May's  detriment.  But 
it  was  something  to  be  thankful  for  that  she  had  not 
"  blurted  out  "  everything  the  night  before. 

If  only  she  could  keep  Hubert  quiet  till  all  was  settled ! 
Once  May  had  given  her  promise  to  the  young  man, 
Hubert  could  not  require  her  to  break  it;  but,  till  the 
important  moment  had  passed,  she  had  an  almost  morbid 
fear  that  he  would  consider  himself  not  merely,  free,  but 
actually  in  duty  bound,  to  bear  the  girl  away  from  the 
"  danger."  May  was  now  fully  grown  up  and  fit  to 
strike  out  a  destiny  of  her  own.  Children  must  always 
pass  out  of  one's  hands,  and,  in  this  case,  it  would  be 
for  the  best — for  would  it  not  simplify  matters  even 
for  Hubert? 

Yet,  though  the  problem  of  May's  marriage  seemed 
the  more  immediately  pressing  to  her,  she  was  not  the 
less  concerned  about  what  was  destined  to  happen  in 
Gwenny's  case.  And,  in  a  way,  that,  too,  had  a  distinct 
bearing  on  the  younger  sister's  "  prospects."  Young 
men's  minds  often  worked  mysteriously ;  they  had  a  way 
of  being  unexpectedly  put  out,  of  exhibiting  an  astonish- 
ing sensitiveness  to  all  sorts  of  things — the  last  things, 
indeed,  one  would  dream  was  affecting  them.  Then  one 
day  they  would  abruptly  go  their  own  way  without 
saying  a  word,  leaving  one  to  puzzle  out  what  could 
possibly  have  annoyed  their  susceptibilities.  The  Ro- 
burne  family  was  strictly  Protestant,  and  the  young  man 


THE  HUSBAND  321 

might  well  have  cause  to  draw  back  if  Gwenny's  con- 
version became  a  realized  fact. 

She  herself  had  been  terribly  vexed  about  it;  though 
for  years  and  years  in  her  earlier  days  her  own  religion 
had  been  of  the  vaguest,  and  she  had  never  attached  any 
special  importance  to  the  particular  form  in  which  she 
had  been  brought  up.  She  could  not  help  herself,  she 
argued,  but  she  had  "  changed."  That  Gwenny's  in- 
tentions had  come  into  violent  collision  with  deep-seated 
feelings  and  prejudices  of  her  own,  was  a  fact  that 
forced  itself  only  too  painfully  on  her  recognition, 
and  she  had  been  not  a  little  alarmed  at  the  ap- 
parent calm  with  which  Hubert  had  received  the  intelli- 
gence. All  along  she  had  unaccountably  hoped  that  he 
would  at  least  be  sufficiently  incensed  to  forbid  the  con- 
templated "  folly  " ;  for  she  considered  the  girl  had  been 
deliberately  tampered  with  by  a  set  of  designing  fanatics. 

In  the  intense  excitement  of  her  last  night's  outpour- 
ing to  Hubert,  this,  the  starting-point  of  everything, 
had  afterwards  got  altogether  obscured.  As  he  had 
scarcely  expressed  himself  then  on  this  particular  sub- 
ject, she  felt  justified  in  recurring  to  it  without  any 
further  delay.  Besides,  it  would  be  such  a  relief  to 
have  that  matter  off  her  hands ! 

So  when  Hubert  retired  soon  after  dinner  to  his 
sanctum,  leaving  the  others  to  pass  one  of  their  rare, 
quiet  evenings  in  that  same  cosy  room  wherein  hung 
the  Turner  beneath  which  May  had  supped  with  her 
Arthur  the  evening  before.  Constance  took  the  oppor- 
tunity of  following  him  after  a  brief  interval  with  a 
view  to  at  least  sounding  him  as  to  the  attitude  he  meant 
to  assume. 

She  found  Hubert's  mind  singularly  unruffled,  though 
he  had  evidently  given  the  subject  some  consideration. 
He  steadfastly  refused  to  accept  Constance's  view  that 
this  desire  of  Gwenny's  was  an  inconceivable  folly. 

"  I  feel  no  impulse  to  oppose  her  wishes,"  he  declared. 


ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

"  I  am  certain  she  is  perfectly  sincere,  and,  in  fact,  I 
must  confess  I  rather  welcome  such  a  proof  that  her 
faith  has  taken  such  a  firm  and  definite  turn.  Now 
that  I  know  how  she  has  chosen  to  shape  her  life,  I  feel 
distinctly  less  concern  about  her.  Surely  you  would  not 
have  me  go  back  on  the  principle  I  adopted  from  the 
beginning — to  leave  the  children  with  open  minds  till 
they  should  be  inspired  to  choose." 

"  To  choose  amid  what  is  good,"  she  fenced. 

"  Naturally.  But  if  I  considered  the  present  choice 
an  evil  one,  I  should  be  the  first  to  forbid  it." 

"  But  her  going  into  a  convent !  The  idea  is  hor- 
rible!" 

"  You  will  grow  reconciled  to  it.  If  it  is  the  only  way 
she  can  find  happiness,  then  I  desire  it  as  much  as  she 
herself." 

"  The  child  is  young — she  may  be  deceiving  herself." 

"  Of  course  I  mean  to  make  certain  that  she  is  not 
deceiving  herself." 

"  But  how  are  we  to  know  that?  "  she  exclaimed 
eagerly. 

"  Well,  I  admit  that  my  ideas  about  convents  are  not 
entirely  definite,  but  I  know  that  a  girl  has  her  chances 
of  withdrawing  before  finally  taking  the  vows.  I  shall 
make  her  promise  me  that  she'll  not  hold  to  the  idea 
just  out  of  mere  pride  if  she  does  not  find  in  the  life 
what  she  hoped  to  find." 

Constance  could  see  that  Hubert  meant  to  be  firm,  so 
she  did  not  persist  further.  Even  though  she  still  hated 
the  prospect  of  Gwenny's  leaving  them  in  that  way,  she 
had  to  make  up  her  mind  to  put  the  best  face  on  it  she 
could.  And,  seeing  he  had  work  lying  on  his  table, 
she  deemed  it  best  to  retire — which  she  did  with  a  gloomy 
countenance. 

Hubert  tried  to  give  his  attention  again  to  his  papers, 
but  the  ingress  of  Constance  had  distracted  his  mind, 
and  he  could  not  help  dwelling  instead  on  the  conversa- 


THE  HUSBAND  323 

tion  he  had  just  had  with  her.  He  had  been  forced 
to  take  a  side,  and  he  could  not  but  think  he  had  decided 
rightly,  though  he  was  grieved  when  he  considered  how 
deeply  Constance  felt  about  it.  Well,  he  could  hardly 
blame  her;  had  he  not  himself  his  passionate  prejudices? 

Ultimately  he  was  impelled  by  his  restlessness  to 
wander  upstairs,  and,  scarcely  understanding  why,  to 
look  into  Gwenny's  room.  Each  girl  had  annexed  a 
personal  sanctum  that  opened  into  her  bedroom,  for  on 
the  upper  floors  were  several  superfluous  chambers.  He 
rapped  mechanically  at  the  door  before  entering,  though 
he  was  almost  certain  she  was  still  below  with  the  others. 

The  room  was  a  dainty  little  place,  entirely  created 
by  its  occupier  so  as  to  be  an  enlargement  of  one  of  its 
corners,  wherein  were  placed  cross-wise  a  tiny  bureau 
and  a  spindle-legged  chair  with  a  tall,  ladder-like  back. 
Two  far-stretching  rows  of  books  on  either  side  met 
higher  in  the  angle,  yet  within  comfortable  reach  of  the 
hand,  and  were  sheltered  behind  a  short  embroidered 
hanging  that  could  be  drawn  along  a  brass  rod.  A  large 
central  rug  and  a  few  odd  chairs  sufficed  for  the  rest  of 
the  room.  On  the  mantelpiece  were  some  curious  and 
significant  relics  of  the  girl's  travels — a  bronze  angel 
kneeling  beside  a  scroll,  but  with  both  wings  broken  off 
short,  and  another  strange  one  of  worm-eaten  wood,  with 
large  wings  this  time,  though  the  features  were  entirely 
worn  away.  There  was  also  a  large  wooden  cross,  in- 
congruously covered  with  flowers  that  were  inlaid  in 
silver,  brass,  and  mother-of-pearl,  and  standing  on  an 
extraordinary  semi-circular  base  that  gleamed  with 
strange  heads  and  scrolls  and  crowns  and  lilies.  And, 
on  either  side,  Gwenny  had  flanked  this  cross  with  a 
porcelain  Virgin. 

Hubert  drew  aside  the  hanging  and  glanced  along  the 
titles  of  the  books — a  prettily-bound  collection  which 
had  accumulated  from  her  tenderest  years.  Only  a  few 
of  them  indicated  the  trend  of  their  owner's  religious 


324  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

thoughts,  and  these  were  for  the  most  part  elementary 
books  of  the  Catholic  faith,  such  as  The  Garden  of  the 
Soul,  and  Imitation,  and  Master  Butler's  Catholic  Cate- 
chism. More  interesting  was  a  small  French  volume, 
bound  in  morocco,  which  had  evidently  been  picked  up 
on  the  Paris  quays.  It  was  entitled  Meditations  et 
Sentimens  sur  La  Saint e  Communion,  and,  as  appeared 
from  a  label  pasted  inside  the  cover,  had  been  presented 
to  one,  Meline  Boulu,  at  a  "  Distribution  Solennelle  des 
Prix,"  for  excellence  in  "  analyses  "  some  sixty  years 
previously ! 

He  replaced  the  book,  and  drew  the  curtain  back  to 
its  previous  position.  Then  he  stole  from  the  room 
somewhat  guiltily.  He  had  been  touched  by  his  peep 
into  it.  If  he  was  more  than  ever  conscious  that 
Gwenny's  life  had  been  going  its  own  way,  he  felt  it 
had  been  going  daintily,  sweetly,  quietly,  and  it  seemed 
to  point  naturally  to  the  destiny  she  desired.  The 
thought  of  it  brought  him  a  deep,  suffocating  emotion, 
but  did  not  tear  his  heart.  The  idea  was  too  full  of 
peace. 

In  the  meantime,  Constance,  face  to  face  with  her 
problems,  had  been  stimulated  to  further  reflection.  Rec- 
ognizing now  that  Gwenny  could  not  be  hindered  from 
getting  her  way,  she  saw  she  must  surrender  with  as  good 
a  grace  as  possible,  and  stifle  her  repugnance  as  best 
she  could.  So,  like  a  sensible  person,  she  hastened  to 
cast  off  the  gloom  to  which  she  had  given  way,  and  to 
take  a  purely  practical  view  of  things.  Once  she  had 
accepted  the  idea  of  putting  her  own  prejudices  on  one 
side,  she  saw  that,  in  view  of  the  manoeuvring  that  had 
been  forced  upon  her  (but  which,  nevertheless,  she  cheer- 
fully undertook  for  the  good  of  everybodv  concerned),  it 
was  at  any  rate  an  advantage  to  know  definitelv  the  state 
of  affairs  with  which  she  had  to  deal.  And  thus  accept- 
ing the  inevitable,  she.  ^•i+'h  n  rr>o]  o-cnius  for  general- 
ship, was  presently  inspirorl  +o  utilize  it  as  far  as  possible, 


THE  HUSBAND  325 

to  incorporate  it,  in  fact,  into  her  own  plan  of  cam- 
paign. 

So,  with  a  swift  volte-face,  she  set  to  work  at  once  to 
make  her  peace  with  Gwenny ;  and,  so  far  from  conceal- 
ing the  fact  that  she  had  already  forestalled  her  in 
bringing  the  matter  to  Hubert's  knowledge,  she  did  not 
shrink  from  implying  that  she  had  been  instrumental  in 
his  decision.  She  would,  therefore,  no  longer  stand  in 
the  way,  and,  when  the  time  came,  Gwenny  should  leave 
them  with  her  full  blessing.  One  concession,  however, 
she  would  expect  in  return — that  the  matter  should  re- 
main a  family  secret  for  the  present,  and  that  no  formal 
step  was  to  be  taken  till  the  autumn,  the  moment  for 
proceeding  to  be  indicated  by  herself.  She  promised, 
however,  that  the  period  of  waiting  should  not  exceed 
six  months. 

Gwenny,  though  startled  at  this  abrupt  change  of 
front,  and  inclined  to  be  incredulous  as  to  Constance^ 
share  in  influencing  Hubert  in  her  favour,  was  far  too 
pleased  and  excited  not  to  assent  immediately  to  the 
one  "  mysterious  "  condition.  But  she  almost  at  once 
divined  what  was  in  Constance's  mind,  having  long  since 
recognized  the  attachment  between  her  sister  and  Arthur 
Tloburne,  and  smiled  inwardly  at  Constance's  fear  thai 
1  er  own  plans  might  hinder  that  marriage. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  no  objection  against  my  speak- 
ing to  uncle — I  should  like  to  thank  him." 

Constance  hesitated,  but  at  once  recovered  herself, 
remembering  that,  if  necessary,  she  could  explain  away 
to  Hubert  the  period  of  waiting  she  had  insisted  upon 
as  merely  intended  to  fit  in  with  their  general  policy  of 
preserving  appearances. 

"  Certainly  you  may  speak  to  him,"  she  managed  to 
reply  promptly.  "  There  is  no  reason  at  all  why  you 
should  not  be  perfectly  open  with  him  now." 

Yet,  for  the  rest  of  the  evening,  Constance  did  not 
give  herself  up  to  the  elation  that  might  naturally  have 


326  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

attended  the  disposal  of  so  troublesome  a  difficulty. 
True,  there  was  one  possibly  formidable  hindrance  the 
less  in  the  way  of  May's  settlement  in  life,  but  how 
would  Hubert  feel  when  he  realized  he  was  to  lose  both 
the  children !  Poor  Hubert !  How  vexing  it  was  that 
she  herself  could  not  be  perfectly  frank  with  him  yet ! 
But,  in  the  days  to  come,  she  would  make  up  to  him 
for  everything — so  great  should  be  her  devotion,  so 
exceeding  what  was  ever  given  by  woman  to  man  since 
the  world  began! 


XI 

,  knowing  that  Hubert  was  busy,  con- 
siderately  waited  till  near  bedtime  before  in- 
truding  on  him.  He  looked  up  from  his  docu- 
ments as  she  came  within  the  threshold. 

"  Isn't  it  rather  early  for  your  good-night  kiss?  "  he 
smiled  in  kindly  welcome.  "But  I  suppose  you  were 
hard-worked  last  night." 

The  apology  on  her  lips  for  disturbing  him  melted 
before  his  wistful  glance,  his  gentle  voice. 

"  Oh,  come,  right  in,"  he  continued,  divining  her  pur- 
pose. "  These  papers  are  only  boring  me,  and  I'm 
rather  glad  to  have  a  visitor." 

"  I  want  to  thank  you,  uncle,"  she  said,  advancing  to 
him  and  kissing  him  warmly.  "  That's  not  for  *  good- 
night '  yet,"  she  explained. 

"  Ah,  Constance  has  already  informed  you  of  her  con- 
versation with  me." 

"  In  my  heart  I  always  knew  you  would  never  be 
against  me ! " 

Her  face  was  even  paler  than  usual,  and  she  had  a 
certain  air  of  fatigue.  What  a  frail  sister  she  would 
make!  And  yet  she  curiously  looked  the  part — though 
a  poet's  conception  of  it  rather  than  the  reality ;  a  figure 
rising  from  ballad  or  song. 

"  My  dear  child,"  he  answered,  "  your  heart  told  you 
true.  Of  course  I  had  not  the  least  idea  of  how  you 
were  being  drawn.  I  almost  wish  I  had  known 
earlier." 

"  I  was  never  really  sure  of  myself  till  the  last  year 
or  so,  but  I  have  not  been  happy  all  this  time,  and 
that  helped  to  destroy  my  last  doubts.  I  want  to  get 

827 


328  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

away  from  this  stifling  life.  I  hate  it.  What  they  call 
pleasure  is  to  me  hollow  and  worthless.  Of  late  I  have 
often  longed  to  come  to  you,  uncle  dear — but  I  was  so 
much  away  from  you,  and  you  were  always  so  distracted 
and  busy.  Besides,  I  was  always  so  timid,  and  Dearie 
thought  it  would  make  you  terribly  angry,  and  upset 
you.  I  would  rather  have  given  up  the  idea  altogether 
than  have  caused  you  pain." 

"  My  dear  little  child,"  he  said,  his  heart  going  out 
to  her ;  "  and,  now  that  you  have  at  last  overcome  your 
timidity,  I  am  to  lose  you ! " 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  uncle,"  she  said,  and  broke  into 
sobbing. 

He  rose  and  placed  his  hands  on  her  hair  caressingly. 
"  You  are  sure  you  will  be  happy  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  shall  find  peace,"  she  said.  "  I  love  the  Faith,  and 
I  wish  to  work  for  the  poor." 

She  went  on  to  explain  that  it  was  no  sensational  step 
she  desired  to  take;  she  did  not  have  it  in  mind  to  join 
a  rigorous  sisterhood  of  severe  and  unremitting  disci- 
plines, but  one  in  which  she  could  turn  her  energies  to 
good  practical  purpose,  and  lead  a  quiet,  useful,  dignified 
life.  She  described  to  him  the  ordinary  routine  of  the 
days,  divided  between  teaching  and  visiting  the  poor 
and  the  sick.  Such  a  retirement  from  the  world  could 
only  be  said  to  be  a  nominal  retirement,  and  her  family 
might  see  her  when  they  wished. 

Hubert  was  glad  to  be  thus  enlightened.  Her  ideas 
seemed  very  sensible,  and  he  could  approve  of  them 
both  with  relief  and  satisfaction.  There  was  really  little 
that  she  had  to  reveal  to  him  about  the  past.  Through 
Madame  Bartolozzi  she  had  formed  a  little  circle  of 
friends  of  her  own  with  whom  she  was  very  much  more 
in  sympathy  than  with  even  the  most  intimate  of  their 
fashionable  acquaintances.  He  elicited  from  her  with 
difficulty  some  account  of  her  gradual  estrangement  from 
the  ways  and  ideas  of  the  others,  for  she  was  as  loath 


THE  HUSBAND  329 

to  insist  on  the  gulf  between  her  and  them  as  she 
was  to  breathe  the  slightest  word  of  their  disparage- 
ment. 

She  was  ready  with  all  the  details  of  her  plans  he 
could  ask  for.  Her  friends  would  make  everything  easy 
for  her.  Of  course  she  would  have  first  of  all  to  pass 
over  to  Catholicism  formally ;  afterwards  announcing  to 
her  spiritual  director  at  confession  her  wish  to  enter  the 
religious  life.  She  would  begin  as  a  "  novice,"  and  wear 
"  the  cap  "  for  six  months,  then  "  the  white  veil "  for 
two  years ;  during  which  latter  period  she  would  be  look- 
ing forward  to  taking  the  final  solemn  vows,  and  eventu- 
ally donning  "  the  black  veil."  As  to  her  own  little 
fortune,  she  would  wish  to  have  half  settled  on  the  order 
she  might  enter,  and  the  remainder  devoted  by  him  to 
charity. 

There  were  no  obstacles  of  any  kind,  but  now  that  he 
was  to  lose  her,  he  was  anxious  to  have  her  stay  with 
him  yet  a  little. 

"  I  have  already  promised  aunt  to  wait  a  few 
months.  She  does  not  like  the  idea  of  any  immediate 
change." 

Hubert  smiled,  instinctively  making  the  very  inter- 
pretation Constance  ha'd  hoped  for. 

"  Well,  I  want  to  put  to  you  now  a  serious  question," 
he  presently  resumed.  He  paused  for  a  moment  im- 
pressively. "  Suppose  you  should,  at  any  time  before 
taking  the  solemn  vows  that  are  to  bind  you  for  always, 
reconsider  your  position,  and  desire  to  come  home 
again !  " 

"  That  I  can  scarcely  conceive  of,  uncle." 

"  Still  the  contingency  might  arise.  And,  therefore, 
my  dear  child,  I  want  you  to  make  me  a  promise  as 
solemn  as  the  vows  themselves." 

She  waited  askance. 

"  If  ever  you  should  not  feel  sure  of  yourself,  you  are 
to  allow  no  sentiment  of  pride,  or  the  mere  desire  to 


330  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

appear  firm — even  in  your  own  eyes — to  prevent  you 
from  withdrawing  before  it  is  too  late." 

"  I  understand,  uncle  dear,"  she  said,  her  eyes  glisten- 
ing ;  "  and,  of  course,  I  promise." 


XII 

m  ^OR  the  present,  then,  the  Ruthvens  presented 
rm  the  same  front  to  the  world,  as  heretofore,  and 
M  the  trio  pursued  their  social  way  (Gwenny 

joining  the  others  in  conscientious  fulfilment 
of  her  understanding  with  Constance),  each  with  her 
own  emotions,  but  betraying  no  hint  of  them  on  the  sur- 
face. 

Meanwhile  Hubert's  spirit  was  calmer.  The  hours  his 
womenkind  spent  with  him  were  still  few,  but  all  three 
were  markedly  affectionate  and  attentive  to  him  now,  and 
he  felt  they  were  infinitely  closer  to  him  than  before. 

This  emphasized  considerateness  on  their  part  was  easy 
to  understand  in  the  case  of  Constance  and  Gwenny,  but 
the  tender  way  in  which  May  now  hovered  about  him  at 
odd  moments  puzzled  him.  He  did  not  suppose  that  she 
had  ever,  in  her  heart,  cared  for  him  less  warmly;  still 
it  was  hard  to  think  why,  amid  these  whirling  days  of 
gaiety,  she  should  be  showing  such  signs  of  a  possible 
return  to  their  old  companionship.  For  now,  too,  she 
would  come  to  show  herself  in  her  finery  before  going 
out;  and  her  clinging  movements,  her  swift  caresses 
seemed  always  to  be  wistful  apologies  for  her  having  to 
dash  away  the  next  moment — to  be  back  hours  after  his 
usual  bedtime.  He  could  only  interpret  it  all  as  due  to 
an  awakening  of  remorse  on  her  part  for  her  previous 
neglect  of  him,  and  even  Constance  was  content  to  accept 
that  supposition. 

In  deference,  too,  to  Constance's  wishes,  he  had  put 
off  his  meditated  little  interview  with  the  girl — at  least 
till  some  promising  occasion  should  arise  naturally.  He 

331 


was  more  disposed  to  wait  now — her  renewed  tenderness 
for  him  might  grow,  and  his  task  be  all  the  lighter. 

On  the  one  point  of  the  girl's  future,  Constance  con- 
tinued to  keep  her  own  counsel.  At  the  same  time  she 
began  to  be  much  exercised  by  the  tardiness  of  the 
engagement  in  declaring  itself.  The  young  people  were 
certainly  not  seeing  less  of  each  other,  nor  did  there 
seem  any  falling  off  in  their  friendliness.  But  there 
was  yet  something  about  their  cordiality  which  was  not 
quite  of  the  right  shade,  and  which  set  Constance  won- 
dering tremulously  whether  Lady  Wycliffe  were  not 
grievously  mistaken.  So  far,  as  her  own  experience 
went,  that  sort  of  cordiality  never  led  to  anything! 

The  truth,  of  course,  was  that  the  pair  were  studiously 
careful  not  to  rouse  any  suspicion  or  gossip,  heroically 
submitting  to  the  restraint  thus  imposed  on  them.  Yet, 
save  for  a  single  drawback,  the  girl  was  amazingly 
happy.  She  was  certainly  intoxicated  with  life — all  she 
set  the  highest  value  on  was  to  be  hers ! 

She  not  only  saw  the  young  man  through  the  glamour 
of  love ;  there  was  also  the  glamour  of  his  coming  career 
as  a  great  politician  or  diplomatist.  She  chose  to  be- 
lieve in  that  blindly — without  it  her  visions  would  have 
been  bereft  of  half  their  colour.  But,  perhaps  most 
desirable  of  all,  shone  his  inalienable  birth-right  of  deep- 
rooted  social  position.  Her  marriage  would  open  to  her 
a  path  to  the  zenith  of  the  ambitions  that  had  filled  her 
dreams  almost  from  childhood.  Not  only  was  she  to 
be  of  the  very  fabric  of  that  world  into  which  she  had 
now  only  a  not  very  comfortable  sense  of  having  risen, 
but  she  was  determined  to  wield  power,  to  blossom  ulti- 
mately into  a  great  leader  of  Society.  There  was  even 
a  possibility,  not  so  very  remote,  of  an  important  title 
falling  to  her;  but  she  was  not  cold-blooded  enough  to 
dwell  on  that,  save  at  moments,  and  then  it  was  an  in- 
voluntary insinuating  tl '  4^at  gained  her  attention, 
hardly  a  deliberate  r1 


THE  HUSBAND  333 

When,  however,  she  allowed  herself  to  acknowledge 
the  proverbial  bitter  that  was  mixed  with  her  sweets,  it 
certainly  exercised  a  most  disturbing  influence  on  the 
harmony  of  her  mood.  Often,  in  conversation  with  her 
Arthur,  she  had  found  herself  approaching  very  delicate 
and  perilous  ground.  Having,  as  yet,  had  insufficient 
experience  of  the  world,  he  had  always  taken  her  posi- 
tion for  granted — she  was  the  niece  and  adopted  daughter 
of  an  eminent  Queen's  Counsel,  he  had  met  her  in  a 
very  exclusive  circle,  her  home  was  refined  and  artistic. 
He  had  never  dreamt  otherwise  than  that  her  social 
eligibility,  even  for  a  man  of  his  exalted  blood,  was 
unquestionable.  And  thus,  whenever  any  chance  ref- 
erence to  her  father  and  mother  had  arisen,  her  heart 
had  beat  faster  with  fright,  and  she  had  had  a  distinctly 
guilty  sense  of  the  inferiority  of  her  origin.  Her  in- 
stinct had  been  to  glide  over  the  point  quickly — they 
had  both  died  when  she  was  ever  so  little.  Once,  indeed, 
she  had  been  impelled  to  throw  out  casually  that  her 
father  had  been  a  "  physician,"  though  she  regretted  it 
immediately.  If  it  had  occurred  to  him  to  interrogate 
her  pointedly,  she  would,  perhaps,  have  made  no  reserva- 
tions, painful  as  it  might  have  been  to  confess  that  her 
maternal  grandmother  had  let  cheap  lodgings  in  a 
Bloomsbury  back  street,  and  that  her  mother  had  cut 
her  throat  in  a  fit  of  mad  excitement.  As  it  was,  she 
merely  refrained  from  enlightening  him  on  these  and 
other  points. 

Inwoven  as  her  romance  was  with  so  much  that  was 
worldly,  she  yet  loved  it  for  its  own  sake,  and  there 
were  times  when  she  despised  herself  for  her  "  insin- 
cerity and  cowardice."  But,  on  the  other  hand,  her 
vulgarer  instincts  fostered  in  her  an  acute  dread  lest  the 
truth,  by  whatever  means,  should  ever  penetrate  to  him. 
This  possibility,  vivid  in  her  consciousness,  and  touched 
to  tragic  importance,  she  constantly  strove  to  shut  her 
eyes  against.  The  epoch  of  her  childhood  was  so  dim 


334  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

and  distant  that  the  present  May  Ruthven  had  only  the 
ghostliest  connection  with  it;  yet,  as  she  could  not  help 
admitting  that  the  connection  existed,  she  resented  the 
fact  as  a  rank  injustice. 

And  thus,  in  the  attempt  to  obliterate  from  her  mind 
so  disagreeable  an  element,  she  tried  to  live  more  in- 
tensely in  every  moment,  throwing  herself  heart  and 
soul  into  the  movement  of  life,  and  gratifying  to  the 
utmost  her  keen  zest  for  pleasure. 


XIII 

71  /F  AY'S  ears  were  always  remarkably  acute  now, 

I  t/ 1  especially  for  any  talk  whereof  she  imag- 
^  w  M  ined  she  or  her  family  might  be  the  sub- 
ject, and  in  this  way  she  was  destined  one 
day  to  overhear  an  extremely  curious  conversation. 

She  had  been  shopping  in  Bond-street  with  Constance, 
and,  as  the  afternoon  was  a  blazing  one,  they  had  just 
descended  at  one  of  the  tea-rooms  for  refreshment.  Al- 
most on  the  doorstep,  May  just  escaped  a  couple  of 
elderly  gallants,  who  were  close  upon  them,  and  who 
were  in  the  habit  of  boring  her  with  playful  compliments 
and  banter.  Constance,  however,  was  caught,  stayed  a 
moment  or  two,  and  ended  by  asking  them  to  lunch, 
returning  to  her  carriage  to  note  the  engagement  in  her 
book,  which  had  to  be  fished  out  from  her  reticule. 
Meanwhile,  May  passed  into  the  tea-room,  and  took  a 
seat  at  a  table  not  far  from  the  entrance,  so  that 
Constance  might  be  able  to  see  her  at  once.  A  tall 
Japanese  screen  that  rose  in  front  of  her,  gave  her  a 
certain  cosy  privacy,  but  she  could  hear  feminine  voices 
talking  with  an  almost  painful  distinctness  at  another 
table  behind  it.  Indeed,  she  had  vaguely  caught  sight 
of  the  two  speakers  as  she  had  entered. 

At  first,  though  she  could  not  help  hearing  every 
word,  she  did  not  want  to  listen,  and  so  she  did  not 
catch  the  drift  of  what  was  being  said.  But  suddenly 
the  sound  of  her  own  name  smote  on  her  ear  violently, 
and  she  found  herself  following  the  voices  in  spite  of 
herself. 

"  I  hear  the  Ruthvens'  party  the  week  before  last  was 

335 


336  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

such  a  brilliant  success — at  least  my  sister  says  so  in  her 
column  in  The  Loyal  Lady.  Were  you  there?  " 

"  Not  I !  We  had  cards  through  Mrs.  Geoffrey,  who 
told  me  Mrs.  Ruthven  had  positively  begged  her  to 
bring  us.  However,  one  can't  be  too  careful  now-a-days, 
and  I  don't  see  why,  just  because  Lady  Wy cliff e  takes  it 
into  her  head  to  patronize  the  woman,  we  should  all  be 
running  to  dance  attendance  on  her.  A  fine  stroke, 
though,  their  getting  Almusa — I  wonder  how  it  was 
managed !  But  that  sort  of  person  generally  goes  down 
as  suddenly  as  she  goes  up.  Only  just  wait  a  little." 

"  Why,  who  are  the  Ruthvens  ?  You  astonish  me.  I 
thought  they  were  of  the  right  sort." 

A  peal  of  cultivated,  silvery  laughter  rang  behind  the 
screen. 

"  The  right  sort !  A  mere  caprice,  my  dear,  on  the 
part  of  Lady  Wycliffe!  This  Ruthven  was  a  protege 
of  hers  when  he  was  a  young  man.  She  paid  for  his 
education,  or  something  of  the  sort,  and  occasionally 
had  him  to  lunch.  He  got  on  in  his  profession,  and  she 
had  him  to  dinner.  And,  now  that  he  has  become  a  Q.C., 
she  has  taken  up  his  wife  and  his  nieces — quite  nice  girls, 
everything  considered,  though  one  of  them  makes  herself 
as  much  at  home  in  Society  as  if  she  were  a  princess  of 
the  blood.  I  don't  question  but  that  Lady  Wycliffe 
means  very  well,  but  she  really  ought  to  be  more  careful 
whom  she  forces  on  other  people." 

"  But  there  doesn't  seem  to  be  anything — you  know 
what  I  mean,  really  anything — against  the  people." 

"  My  dear,  the  whole  business  is  a  rather  amusing 
scandal.  Lady  Wycliffe  does  not  even  seem  to  have 
made  the  least  attempt  to  inquire  into  these  people's 
antecedents.  This  Mrs.  Ruthven,  at  the  time  her  hus- 
band grew  infatuated  with  her,  was  an  actress  in  the 
lower  ranks  of  the  profession — just  starving  along,  you 
know — and  I  have  the  best  of  authority  for  saying  that 
she  was  no  better  than  she  should  be.  She  had  pre- 


THE  HUSBAND  337 

viously  been  living  with  a  married  man,  and  she  only 
left  him  to  marry  this  Ruthven." 

"  You  astonish  me !  " 

"  I  assure  you,  my  dear,  it's  as  true  as  gospel — and 
would  be  bad  enough  in  all  conscience,  but  there's  still 
worse  to  follow.  This  Ruthven's  brother  " — here  the 
voice  impressively  lowered  itself  an  octave — "  appears  to 
have  married  a  common  street-walker,  who  drove  the 
poor  fellow  to  suicide.  The  uncle  then  took  the  little 
girls,  the  mother  not  being  a  fit  person  to  be  entrusted 
with  their  upbringing.  My  dear,  it's  the  solemn  truth — 
I  have  it  on  unexceptionable  authority.  Nobody  knows 
what  became  of  the  mother,  and,  indeed  it's  likely  enough 
she's  still  rolling  about  somewhere.  She'll  turn  up  some 
day — they  always  do,  my  dear — and  then  perhaps  the 
Ruthvens  '11  feel  a  bit  uncomfortable  for  awhile." 

May  rose,  all  afire,  and  hurried  into  the  street  again, 
almost  colliding  with  Constance,  who  was  just  about  to 
enter. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you,  child  ?  "  said  Constance, 
staring  at  her. 

"  I  feel  overcome  by  the  heat — all  of  a  sudden,"  said 
the  girl.  "  It  is  too  terribly  close  in  there.  Let  us  go 
home  at  once." 


XIV 

rHERE  was  a  dance  that  evening  at  which 
Arthur  Roburne  was  expecting  to  find  her, 
but  May  shut  herself  up  in  her  room  instead, 
on  the  plea  that  she  was  too  indisposed  to  stir 
out.  Nothing  to  be  alarmed  about — mere  fatigue.  The 
suggestion  of  a  doctor  only  evoked  her  scorn.  She  would 
lie  still,  she  said,  and  try  to  compose  herself,  perhaps 
even  get  a  little  sleep.  This  in  order  to  be  left  to  her 
own  thoughts;  for  even  friendly  solicitude  was  to  be 
dreaded  as  an  irritation. 

As  a  result,  Constance  and  Gwenny,  after  various 
fluctuations,  also  decided  to  pass  the  time  at  home. 
Meanwhile  May  was  brooding  and  suffering.  If  it  was 
possible  to  hear  such  talk  quite  at  random,  then — 
then 

The  world  seemed  to  sink  away  from  beneath  her, 
and  a  horrible,  choking  dread  almost  made  her  swoon. 
Again  and  again  she  gathered  her  strength  together,  but 
each  time  the  memory  of  that  vile  gossip  struck  her  like 
a  knife. 

About  nine  o'clock  her  reflections  were  interrupted  by 
a  rapping  at  the  door.  Her  petulance  at  being  disturbed, 
vanished  immediately  when  she  perceived  the  visitor 
was  Hubert. 

"  How  flushed  you  are,  little  May !  "  he  exclaimed,  his 
voice  full  of  anxiety. 

She  gave  a  forced  little  laugh.  "  You  look  as  con- 
cerned, uncle  dear,  as  if  I  had  broken  a  limb.  The 
afternoon's  shopping  wore  me  out — it  was  so  stuffy 
everywhere.  I  dare  say  I  shall  be  all  right  again  in  the 
morning." 


THE  HUSBAND  339 

He  came  into  the  room,  and  closed  the  door  behind 
him. 

"  I'm  sorry  you  have  to  lose  your  dance  to-night. 
Still,  I  suppose  there  are  a  great  many  more  to  come. 
May  I  not  sit  down  a  moment?  " 

She  pushed  forward  an  arm-chair  for  him,  then 
languidly  dropped  into  another  herself. 

"  Of  late  I've  been  feeling  the  heat  in  chambers,  ter- 
rifically," he  continued.  "  The  mere  idea  of  shopping 
turns  me  dizzy.  Why  do  you  do  it?  " 

"  Why  ?  I  never  thought  about  it.  I  suppose  it's 
natural." 

He  made  a  wry  face. 

"  Even  father  Preston  likes  it ! "  she  added,  as  if  that 
bore  out  her  view. 

"  Merely  an  acquired  taste  of  his  to  counteract  his 
metaphysical  tendencies.  He  strives  to  escape  from  the 
infinitely  big  by  burying  himself  in  the  infinitely 
little." 

"  I  don't  quite  grasp  that,"  she  said,  without  any 
attempt  to  do  so.  "  My  brain  is  rather  muddled  to- 
night. But  it  sounds  as  if  it  were  the  right  explanation 
— it's  Prestonish  through  and  through." 

Hubert  smiled.  "  I'm  glad  to  see  my  little  girl  in  such 
good  spirits.  I  was  nervous  in  spite  of  your  assurance. 
Dances  and  that  sort  of  thing  are  all  very  well  in  their 
way,  but  I've  no  doubt  you'll  be  finding  it  a  refreshing 
contrast  to  spend  some  time  with  me  just  quietly  in 
the  country.  First  a  good  rest  amid  pure  air  and  sweet 
surroundings,  and  then,  when  we  both  recover  our  ac- 
tivity, we'll  indulge  in  some  of  those  long  walks  we 
used  to  have  together  in  the  olden  days — do  you  re- 
member, little  girl  ?  " 

Her  head  swam  again,  and  she  momentarily  forgot 
where  she  was  and  what  she  was  talking  about.  The 
vast  feeling  of  misery  she  was  trying  both  to  keep  down 
and  to  dissimulate,  surged  up  heavily. 


340  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  said  vaguely,  with  a  far-off  sense  of 
meadows  and  buttercups  and  daisies.  Then,  as  the  op- 
pression passed  off,  she  gathered  her  wits  again  with  a 
swift  effort.  "  Oh,  those  walks — they  were  simply  splen- 
did !  "  Her  eyes  sparkled,  and  her  face  took  on  an  ex- 
pression of  joyous  reminiscence.  She  was  like  a  sick 
actress  struggling  through  her  part. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  somewhat  tired  of  town  and 
dancing  by  now?  "  he  suggested  tentatively. 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  answered,  dizzily  losing  her  sense  of  the 
drift  of  the  conversation.  "  I  love  town,  and  I  like 
dancing  almost  better  than  any  other  amusement." 

"  Curious  our  tastes  should  be  so  different,"  he  ven- 
tured. "  I  used  to  care  very  little  about  dancing  in  the 
old  days,  and  I  am  never  quite  happy  in  town." 

"  I  really  can't  understand  anybody  not  liking  town," 
she  said.  "  Oh !  "  She  gave  almost  a  moan,  and  closed 
her  eyes. 

"  I  am  tiring  you,  dear,"  he  exclaimed,  jumping  up. 
"  I'll  send  you  the  maid,  and  you  must  go  to  bed  at 
once.  Forgive  my  thoughtlessness.  Good-night,  dear 
little  one." 

She  kissed  him  affectionately,  and  then,  unexpectedly, 
a  second  time.  As  he  moved  towards  the  door,  she 
called  to  him  again  with  a  last  forced  effort  at  coquetry, 
charming  him  with  her  freshest  smile. 

"  And,  uncle  dear,  you  must  take  me  for  a  walk  soon. 
Why  not  here  in  London?  Perhaps  you  will  find  that 
you  can  be  happier  in  town  than  you  think."  Her  eyes 
played  at  him  roguishly. 

"  Well,  why  not  to-morrow — if  you  feel  equal  to  it  ?  " 
he  rejoined,  staying  a  moment  with  his  hand  on  the 
door-knob.  "  To-morrow  is  Saturday,  remember.  We 
can  fill  the  whole  afternoon,  and  have  tea  out.  .  .  . 
Besides,"  he  added,  deciding  to  make  the  announcement, 
"  I  want  particularly  to  have  a  long  talk  with  you,  and 
that  will  give  us  a  splendid  opportunity." 


THE  HUSBAND  341 

"  A  really  serious  talk  ?  "  she  murmured,  struck  by 
the  sudden  gravity  of  his  manner. 

"  Well,  yes — quite  a  serious  talk,"  he  assured  her. 
She  made  a  moue. 


XV 

/N  the  morning  May  had  a  letter  from  Roburne, 
and  the  sight  of  it  renewed  her  distress  to  the 
full.     As  part  of  the  compact  between  them, 
letters  had  to  be  rare  for  the  time  being.     Her 
feeling  of  foreboding  about  this  one  was  therefore  ac- 
centuated. 

"  DEAR  MAY," — he  wrote — "  I  turned  up  at  the 
Cairds'  particularly  early  to-night,  and,  what  is  worse, 
stayed  particularly  late,  as  I  did  not  care  to  give  up 
hope  of  your  arrival,  even  at  the  fag-end.  I  wonder 
what  kept  you  away,  and  how  it  is  you  did  not  con- 
trive to  let  me  know  somehow — surely  you  might  have 
wired  a  word.  I  bored  myself  to  death  all  the  evening. 
I  am  the  more  vexed  at  missing  you,  as,  in  the  ordinary 
course  of  events,  there  isn't  much  chance  of  my  seeing 
you  again  this  week,  and  there  are  important  reasons 
why  I  must  see  you  immediately.  So,  in  sheer  desper- 
ation, I  must  propose  something  alarmingly  indecorous. 
Cannot  you  meet  me  to-morrow  (Saturday)  about  five 
in  the  afternoon,  say  in  the  Embankment  Gardens  near 
Charing  Cross  Station?  You  might  take  out  a  book, 
and  be  reading  on  one  of  the  seats.  I'll  find  you  in  a 
moment.  I  know  you  are  free  to  go  about  as  you  please, 
and  that  is  a  very  convenient  place  for  talking  at  our 
ease.  If  you  cannot  come,  a  wire  will  find  me  at  Eaton 
Square  up  to  four  o'clock. 

"  Yours,  ARTHUR." 

She  read  through  the  note  with  beating  temples,  ac- 
cepting as  a  matter  of  course  the  interpretation  that 

342 


THE  HUSBAND  343 

came  uppermost  in  her  mind.  She  made  no  attempt  to 
examine  each  phrase  searchingly,  to  explain  away  his 
coldness.  His  hurried,  slap-dash  manner  seemed  just  to 
indicate  a  non-committal  policy ;  could  be  explained  away 
as  mere  hasty  scribble,  or  stand  as  significant  in  case  a 
break  should  follow. 

Of  course  he  had  heard  the  gossip,  and  desired  to 
know  exactly  what  amount  of  truth  was  in  it.  Vile  and 
exaggerated  as  it  all  was,  she  would  have  to  make  clear 
to  him  the  foundation  of  fact  on  which  these  rumours 
rested — that  is,  if  she  could  make  up  her  mind  to  meet 
him  at  all.  Her  feeling  now  was  principally  one  of 
anger  and  bitterness.  The  intense  pride  which  had  car- 
ried her  through  life  with  high  head  and  elastic  step 
could  react  against  the  blow  in  no  other  way.  She  was 
angry  with  herself  at  having  had  a  mother  of  such 
humble  extraction,  angrier  still  with  that  mother  for 
having  quitted  this  world  in  so  violently  unconventional 
a  fashion.  And  as  for  Constance — of  whose  history  she 
had  guessed  (and  guessed  wrongly)  more  than  she  had 
ever  been  able  to  discover,  and  against  whom  she  had 
come  to  nourish  an  heroic  resentment  for  having  killed 
Hubert's  mother  (who  after  all  had  been  a  gentlewoman) 
— it  was  hard  that  a  person  like  that  should  be  so  closely 
bound  up  with  her  own  life  as  now  to  spoil  it  for  her. 
How  foolish  of  Hubert  to  have  allowed  himself  to  get 
entrapped  by  a  woman  who  had  already  besmirched  her- 
self! 

With  such  gossip  going  about,  it  was  plain  they  could 
not  retain  their  position  in  society — nor  ought  they  to 
desire  it.  That  would  not  matter  to  Gwenny,  who  did 
not  care  for  things,  and  who  meant  to  pass  her  life  in 
teaching  and  praying  in  a  convent !  But  she  herself 
had  no  turn  for  the  conventual  existence.  She  was  to 
lose  everything — she  who  cared  for  everything! 

At  breakfast  she  smilingly  asserted  that  she  was  al- 
most quite  recovered  again,  but  would  not  go  out  for  her 


344  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

morning  ride.  The  afternoon's  promenade,  for  which 
she  had  engaged  herself  to  Hubert,  would  be  exercise 
enough  for  her.  To  distract  her  thoughts  she  busied 
herself  during  the  next  hour  or  two  with  anything 
that  offered,  and  found  herself  arranging  her  books,  and 
sorting  her  letters  and  papers  and  destroying  an  endless 
number  of  them.  It  was  as  if  she  were  being  impelled 
by  some  presentiment  of  tragedy  to  put  her  affairs  into 
order ! 

Suddenly  she  remembered  that  Hubert,  too,  had  an- 
nounced he  had  something  serious  to  say  to  her,  and 
she  laughed  nervously.  All  in  front  of  her  was  a  black 
chaos — she  would  not  let  her  mind  go  forward  and  trace 
out  possibilities.  And  though  she  had  not  yet  told  her- 
self so  in  words,  she  had  in  her  mind  already  recognized 
the  utter  futility  of  seeing  Arthur  again.  Her  percep- 
tion of  certain  aspects  of  his  character  had  been  greater 
than  she  had  ever  admitted  to  herself,  and,  in  the  depths 
of  her  soul,  she  knew  only  too  well  he  would  never  stand 
by  her.  Moreover,  even  if  she  had  desired  to  go  to 
meet  him,  she  could  not  be  at  all  sure  of  parting  from 
Hubert  in  time  to  be  punctually  at  the  rendezvous,  or 
even  to  get  there  at  all  that  day. 

Yet  at  no  moment  during  the  morning  could  she 
bring  herself  to  slip  out  to  send  the  young  man  a  tele- 
gram, either  accepting  or  rejecting  the  suggested  meet- 
ing; though  her  silence,  leading  him  to  expect  her,  was 
bound  to  result  in  his  kicking  his  heels  wrathfully  and 
feeling  she  had  made  a  fool  of  him.  For  she  was  still 
struggling  with  herself  mentally,  and  could  not  bring 
herself  to  utter  a  definite  "  yes  "  or  "  no." 

At  lunch  she  again  presented  a  smiling  face,  and  thus 
far  none  of  the  others  manifested  the  least  suspicion 
that  anything  was  amiss.  She  almost  pitied  their  sleek 
happy  ignorance  as,  nervous  and  overwrought,  she  grew 
comparatively  hilarious  and  overflowed  with  gay 
laughter. 


THE  HUSBAND  345 

"  Well,  uncle,"  she  asked,  as  she  jumped  up  from  the 
table  at  last.  "  Where  are  you  going  to  take  me?  " 

He  was  pleased  she  hadn't  forgotten  the  arrangement. 

"  So  soon  after  lunch !  Will  it  be  good  for  our  di- 
gestions? "  he  laughed. 

"  You  should  have  thought  of  that  before.  As  for 
myself,  I  am  unaware  that  I  possess  such  a  thing.  But 
I'll  be  generous — you  shall  have  ten  minutes  for  your 
coffee." 

There  was  a  breeze  blowing  when  they  left  the  house, 
so  that  it  was  pleasant  to  saunter  in  the  sunshine.  May, 
despite  herself,  could  not  help  being  heartened  a  little 
by  the  stimulus  of  the  town  she  so  loved;  and,  even  for 
Hubert,  the  streets  momentarily  took  on  a  brighter 
aspect. 

They  strolled  through  Regent  Street,  the  Haymarket, 
across  Trafalgar  Square,  and  down  Whitehall  to  West- 
minster. Then,  passing  the  Houses  of  Parliament,  they 
struck  the  Embankment,  and  followed  it  along  Milbank 
and  past  the  sordid  genteel  mansions  of  Pimlico.  It 
was  dominant  in  her  mind  that  they  were  leaving  further 
and  further  behind  them  the  place  of  rendezvous  fixed 
by  Arthur  Roburne.  Of  course  it  was  only  natural  for 
Hubert  to  turn  his  back  on  the  Temple  and  walk  in 
the  direction  away  from  it,  but  still  the  fact  that  they 
were  so  going  was  curiously  significant;  and  it  pleased 
her  to  persuade  herself  that  fate  was  deciding  for  her ! 
However,  she  was  meanwhile  doing  her  best  to  chat 
amusingly,  and  she  fortunately  found  her  companion 
easy  to  entertain,  for  he  smiled  and  laughed  incessantly. 

The  neighbourhood  was  growing  dingier  each  moment, 
and  suddenly  she  stood  still  and  looked  all  round  her 
and  over  the  parapet  of  the  river.  An  unbroken  range 
of  warehouses  and  factories  towered  across  the  water, 
that  lay  brown  and  thick  under  the  caressing  sunshine. 
Blackened  houses  stretched  endlessly  on  their  right,  with 
gloomy  side-streets  at  intervals.  She  shuddered. 


546  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

"How  depressing  it  is  just  here!"  she  exclaimed. 
"  The  sunshine  seems  a  mockery." 

"  How  so?  "  he  said,  with  sad  memories  of  his  recent 
excursion  to  the  Spitalfields  lodging-house.  "  This  is 
not  at  all  bad.  Indeed,  for  London  it  is  quite 
good." 

She  shivered  again.  "  You  are  prejudiced  against 
London,  and  always  were." 

"  I  think,  little  girl,  you  are  the  prejudiced  person ! 
I  am  of  those  who  points  out  that  certain  things  are  bad 
because  they  desire  improvement ;  whereas  are  you  not 
of  the  majority  who  will  not  see  the  badness  and  insist 
that  we  others  are  only  mischief-makers  ?  '  Fouling 
one's  own  nest '  is  the  absurd  time-honoured  way  of 
putting  it.  Highly  effective,  no  doubt,  but  it  virtually 
declares  that  to  draw  attention  to  the  foulness  is  the 
same  thing  as  having  made  the  foulness." 

She  listened,  taken  aback  at  this  abrupt  attack,  though 
his  tone  was  of  the  kindest. 

"  Oh,  this  must  be  the  serious  subject  about  which 
we  were  to  talk!  But  why  such  a  strange  choice, 
uncle?" 

"  No,  it  is  not  a  strange  choice,"  he  declared.  "  I  have 
my  purpose.  If  I  can  show  a  radical  error  exists  in 
your  mind  on  one  important  point,  you  will  be  the  more 
ready  to  believe  that  you  are  in  error  on  many  other 
important  points." 

"  But  why  just  now,  uncle?  "  she  asked  mystified. 

"  That  will  become  clear  to  you  as  we  proceed." 

"  This  is  all  very  unexpected,"  she  said.  "  Of  course 
I  know  our  ideas  don't  quite  agree.  I  used  to  think 
more  your  way  when  I  was  little." 

"  I  feel  complimented !  "  He  spoke  with  marked  re- 
proof. 

She  smiled  in  spite  of  herself.  "  Now  you  are  getting 
cross.  But  I  don't  repent,"  she  cajoled.  "  You  are 
always  so  charming  when  you  are  cross." 


THE  HUSBAND  347 

She  was  able  to  win  the  mastery  over  him,  but  it  was 
only  for  a  moment  this  time,  for  presently  he  hardened 
himself  against  all  her  pretty  arts  and  returned  sternly 
to  his  point. 

"  Seriously,  May,  I  am  cross.  Am  I  to  take  your 
word  for  it  that  you  are  still  going  to  find  me  charm- 
ing? " 

"  I  begin  to  feel  quite  nervous.  I  can  see  it  in  your 
face — you  mean  to  read  me  a  long  sermon  about  every- 
body's being  equal  and  all  that  sort  of  thing." 

She  was  not  intensely  interested.  Her  mind  was  too 
distracted,  and  she  was  weary  and  heart-sick  after  her 
long  night  of  tossing  about.  To  have  remained  brood- 
ing in  her  room  would  have  suited  her  better  than  this 
apparently  abstract  conversation  that  was  now  being 
forced  upon  her.  Had  her  sorrow  been  other  than  it 
was,  she  might  even  now  have  been  impelled  to  confide  in 
the  one  soul  she  still  loved  best  in  all  the  world.  But 
she  had  been  wounded  deep,  and  her  rebellion  against 
all  the  doings  and  events  of  long  ago  that  had  resulted 
in  crushing  her  now,  involved  a  certain  amount  of  resent- 
ment against  him.  She  had  thus  no  impulse  to  open 
her  heart  to  him;  she  even  shrank  from  anticipating 
events  by  telling  him  of  the  terrible  slanders  she  had 
overheard.  So  she  took  up  the  conversation  with  just 
the  captious  fag-end  of  her  mind,  yielding  up  the  rest 
of  herself  to  the  intense  reckless  bitterness  which  had 
again  asserted  itself,  and  which  grew  as  each  step  took 
them  further  from  the  point  in  London  that  was  most 
vivid  to  her. 

"  You  attribute  to  me  all  the  false  opinions,  plausibly 
invented  and  attributed  to  people  of  my  kind  of  con- 
victions by  people  of  your  kind  of  convictions,"  pursued 
Hubert  coolly.  "  I  do  not  say  everybody  is  equal,  only 
that  if  anybody  is  equal,  let  him  be  accepted  as  such. 
As  for  the  long  sermon,  it  is  quite  conceivable  it  might 
do  you  good.  Physic,  I  believe,  is  more  or  less  disagree- 


348  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

able,  yet  there  are  times  when  its  administration  is  in- 
dispensable." 

He  still  spoke  kindly,  even  half  banteringly,  neverthe- 
less he  made  her  feel  now  he  meant  no  jest. 

Yet  that  he  was  serious  in  the  deeper  sense  she  had 
not  yet  realized. 

"Oh  dear!"  she  thought;  "  just  to  choose  this  mo- 
ment to  torment  me  with  his  radicalism !  Bother,  bother, 
bother ! " 

"  But  perhaps  I  ought  not  to  compare  my  sermon 
with  physic.  It  is  not  impossible  you  may  actually  find 
pleasure  in  listening  to  me.  You  use/i  to,  once  upon 
a  time." 

"  You  began  by  frightening  me  to-day." 

"  I  am  sorry — I  did  not  mean  to  do  that.  Only,  my 
dear  child,  it  is  naturally  difficult  for  me  to  make  a  new 
beginning  without  appearing  to  be  a  little  abrupt.  We 
have  drifted  so  far  apart.  When  I  come  to  think  of  it 
we  have  not  really  talked  together  for  several  years — 
not  in  the  way,  that  is,  we  once  used  to." 

She  did  not  respond  to  the  yearning  in  his  voice,  did 
not  even  perceive  it. 

"  Are  you  angry  with  me?  "  she  asked  in  a  weary 
indifferent  tone. 

"  No,  not  angry,"  he  answered  slowly ;  "  but  in  a  way 
disappointed  and  dissatisfied." 

A  strange  expression  passed  across  her  face;  she  felt 
persecuted. 

"  I  am  sorry,  but  I  feel  very  innocent." 

They  had  by  now  left  Westminster  ever  so  far  behind 
them.  She  would  certainly  not  retrace  her  steps  that 
day! 

Arthur  would  wait  some  time,  and  then  go  away  dis- 
gusted and  disappointed.  Well,  she,  too,  was  disgusted 
and  disappointed! 

Just  then  they  went  past  the  end  of  a  bleak  Pimlico 
street — respectable  with  porticoes  and  areas  and  tall 


THE  HUSBAND  349 

windows — down  which  was  coming  a  train  of  wedding 
carriages,  gaily  decked  out,  the  bridal  carriage  harnessed 
with  a  pair  of  splendid  greys.  At  every  area-gate  down 
the  long  street,  maidservants  in  twos  and  three  were 
talking  in  awed  whispers  and  all  looking  intently  in  the 
same  direction.  Hubert  had  passed  on  without  glancing 
to  that  side,  and  May  averted  her  eyes  and  kept  pace 
with  him. 

"  It  is  neither  a  question  of  innocence  or  guilt,"  he 
responded.  "  I  do  not  say  who  is  at  fault,  but  I  cannot 
hide  from  myself  that  I  am  bitterly  disappointed  in  you. 
You  are  something  very  different  from  what  I  always 
hoped  you  would  grow  up  to  be." 

It  was  hard  on  her,  she  felt,  to  be  thus  attacked.  The 
captiousness  of  that  bit  of  herself  which  was  engaged  in 
the  conversation  was  increasing  each  moment.  Why  did 
he  not  stop  tormenting  her? 

"  This  is  all  so  unexpected,"  she  repeated ;  "  but  I 
cannot  be  otherwise  than  I  am,  although  I  am  sorry 
not  to  be  the  somebody  else  who  would  please  you 
better." 

"  I  repeat  I  am  not  finding  fault,"  he  assured  her 
more  gently,  conscious  of  his  own  short-comings  and 
that  he  had  hardly  the  right  to  chide  her.  "  I  only 
want  to  enlist  your  sympathetic  interest.  I  cannot  be- 
lieve that  the  person  with  whom  I  am  dissatisfied  is  really 
yourself — the  little  May  who  was  once  everything  in  the 
world  for  me !  " 

"  Naturally  I  am  not  the  little  May.  One  grows. 
But,  even  so,  I  don't  think  my  nature  has  changed  so 
very  greatly.  I  am  ever  so  much  more  experienced  and 
wiser  and  all  that,  and " 

"  And  you've  made  up  your  mind  about  ever  so  many 
things.  That's  just  what  makes  you  superficially  the 
person  that  grieves  me." 

"  You  mean  our  views  about  things  would  not  agree — 
which  is  exactly  what  I  said  myself  just  before.  Why, 


350  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

uncle,"  she  protested ;  "  you  always  used  to  encourage 
me  to  form  my  own  opinions !  " 

"  I  had  a  right  to  hope  you  would  form  them  within 
certain  limits.  Freedom  does  not  mean  freedom  to  go 
wrong.  But  I  am  not  merely  concerned  about  your 
opinions — or  rather  convictions.  What  concerns  me  most 
is  the  selfish  life  which,  I  have  no  doubt  whatever,  is 
based  on  those  comfortable  convictions  of  yours." 

He  spoke  in  all  meekness,  conscious  she  might  well 
demand  what  wonderful  benevolence  had  been  practised 
in  his  life,  what  shining  example  of  altruism  had  he  set 
her !  Nor  did  he  feel  such  argument  the  less  keenly  be- 
cause it  did  not  occur  to  her  to  employ  it.  As  for  the 
girl,  the  words  "  selfish  life  "  had  stung  her,  but  not  into 
argument.  Selfish  life,  indeed !  She  could  have  laughed 
when  she  thought  what  she  was  suffering  at  that  mo- 
ment. Her  face  hardened. 

"  Cannot  we  get  home  again  ?  "  she  asked,  her  voice 
distorted  in  the  effort  to  avoid  a  moan.  "  Please  call 
that  hansom.  I  am  so  tired." 

He  mistook  her  manner  for  petulance — half  insolent 
as  well.  Constance  was  right  in  what  she  had  said,  he 
thought;  the  girl  was  utterly  spoilt.  He  looked  at  her 
and  caught  the  hardness  in  her  face,  and  it  made  him 
think  of  her  grandmother's  granite  hardness. 

"  I  do  not  believe  you  are  tired,  and  I  must  ask  you 
to  listen  to  me."  he  said  sternly.  "  Meanwhile,  if  you  so 
prefer,  we  can  turn  our  steps  towards  home.  I  can  say 
all  I  wish  very  quickly,  and  leave  you  for  the  present  to 
ponder  over  it." 

She  made  no  reply,  but  her  face  hardened  even  fur- 
ther and  she  set  her  teeth.  Though  in  her  heart  she 
had  never  meant  to  go  to  Arthur,  and  even  though  she 
had  already  openly  told  herself  that  she  was  letting  cir- 
cumstances decide  for  her,  she  yet  began  to  nurse  a  fur- 
ther and  absurdly  unjust  anger  against  Hubert  for  hav- 
ing made  it  impossible  for  her  to  keep  the  rendezvous 


THE  HUSBAND  351 

Both  distinctly  felt  now  that  a  critical  moment  had  ar- 
rived ;  and  this  perception  made  the  girl — by  now  grown 
unreasoningly  reckless — the  less  disposed  to  try  to  soften 
him.  Life  was  now  so  worthless,  she  had  been  struck 
so  hard,  it  seemed  only  the  fit  thing  that  she  should  hold 
herself  to  be  struck  again. 

He  made  as  if  to  turn  back  the  way  they  had  come, 
but  the  thought  of  Arthur,  who  would  soon  be  waiting 
for  her  some  three  miles  further  down  the  Embankment, 
struck  her  sharply  again  and  made  her  cry — 

"  No,  no,  uncle.  I  am  sick  of  walking  past  those 
horrible  streets.  Let  us  cut  up  towards  Kensington 
Gardens  and  get  home  that  way." 

She  herself  led  the  way  up  the  next  turning. 

He  recommenced  the  onslaught. 

"  I  wanted  you  to  grow  up  a  true  lady,  but  you  prefer 
to  live  as  a  sham  one." 

He  waited  to  hear  what  she  had  to  say  to  that,  but 
she  made  no  response.  Then,  stung  into  angry  expostu- 
lation, he  spoke  out  at  last — with  feeling,  almost  with 
tears,  and  with  the  sense  of  performing  a  sacred  duty. 
It  was  a  nightmare,  this  life  they  had  slid  into  leading, 
and  it  oppressed  him,  revolted  him.  He  did  not  mean 
to  sacrifice  his  conscience  any  longer  to  this  low 
type  of  happiness,  dependent  on  superficial  gratifica- 
tions. What  had  become  of  her  mind — not  to  speak  of 
her  soul? 

"  You  have  grown  into  a  snob — a  snob  of  snobs,"  he 
said  passionately ;  "  but  my  love  for  you  still  clings  to 
the  hope  that  your  deeper  self  will  throw  it  all  off.  This 
foolish  ostentatious  existence,  this  running  after  the 
people  who  have  possession  of  the  social  stage — and 
simply  for  that  reason — is  loathsome  to  me.  My  whole 
nature  is  up  in  arms  against  it.  I  hate  my  profession, 
I  hate  the  money  I  have  earned.  I  want  to  breathe 
a  purer  air.  I  will  no  longer  foster  the  selfishness  of 
your  days,  your  gluttony  for  pleasure !  Is  not  the  world 


352  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

full  of  poorer  sisters  whom  you  might  have  thought  of 
helping?  " 

She  listened  with  burning  cheeks  yet  callous  heart. 
What  was  her  life  to  her?  she  laughed  inwardly.  What 
cared  she  about  her  poorer  sisters?  Let  them  starve, 
let  the  whole  world  starve,  or  be  smashed  to  pieces ! 
What  would  it  matter  to  her?  She  only  wanted  to  close 
her  eyes,  to  sleep — to  sleep  in  peace! 

Yet,  somehow,  she  felt  she  must  now  argue  with  him, 
impelled  to  wound  him,  despite  all  her  indifference  to 
this  conversation  as  to  everything  else.  And  she  argued 
amazingly — flauntingly  cynical  and  superior,  defending 
her  own  mode  of  existence,  defending  luxury  and  the 
worldly  life.  The  masses  of  people  were  only  inferior 
animals,  she  declared,  fit  only  to  black  her  boots.  The 
world  was  so  made ;  let  the  slaves  labour ! 

Hubert's  heart  sank,  and  the  torture  of  his  passion  so 
increased  that  he  contained  himself  only  with  difficulty, 
attuned  himself  outwardly  to  the  grey  respectability  of 
these  dingy  streets.  So  she  was  then  like  her  grand- 
mother (though  without  her  redeeming  piety  and 
charity),  hard  as  granite  and  shrewdly  snobbish.  In 
that  moment,  too,  he  seemed  to  behold  even  her  mother's 
features  flashing  strangely  through  her  own,  and  he 
recognized  Agnes's  stubborn  pride  and  her  lust  for 
"  life." 

"  You  are  absolutely  heartless,"  he  cried  bitterly ; 
"  and  vulgar,  too,  though  you  may  not  suspect  it.  You 
care  for  nothing  save  to  amuse  yourself." 

"  Ah,  you  would  prefer  me  to  be  like  Gwenny,  and 
shut  myself  up  for  life  in  a  convent." 

"  She  at  least  will  lead  a  useful  life  of  service.  She 
loves  humanity." 

"  She  has  strange  tastes.     How  can  one  love  that  ?  " 

She  tossed  her  head  contemptuously  toward  the  op- 
posite side-walk,  where  a  poor  creature  hobbled  along 
in  a  dirty  red  ragged  petticoat  and  gaping  boots,  her 


THE  HUSBAND  353 

white  hair  hanging  in  strange  disorderly  curls,  her  face 
pock-marked  and  wrinkled. 

Hubert's  passion  passed  as  by  magic  into  pity.  He 
did  not  know  which  he  pitied  the  more — the  young  girl 
or  the  aged  woman! 

"  Yes,  one  can  love  even  that,"  he  said  softly.  An 
irresistible  impulse  carried  him  across  the  street.  He 
stopped  the  half-starved  woman,  spoke  to  her  kindly, 
and  ended  by  pressing  a  little  money  into  her  hand  and 
promising  to  help  her  further. 

She  called  a  blessing  after  him,  her  aged  eyes  wet,  her 
hands  and  body  shaking.  May  had  remained  waiting 
defiantly,  with  curling  lip  and  sneering  smile.  Hubert 
rejoined  her  and  they  resumed  their  walk  without  a 
word.  At  the  top  of  the  street  they  met  the  same 
procession  of  wedding  carriages  which  had  come  by 
another  route,  and  they  could  not  help  observing  the 
people  inside  them — the  men  with  strangely  varying 
beards  and  whiskers  and  features,  all  wearing  glossy 
high  hats  and  small  black  ties  and  large  shirt-fronts : 
the  women,  buxom  and  matronly,  holding  big  bouquets. 

Some  clock  struck  five  just  then.  At  that  actual 
moment  Arthur  was  waiting  for  her  miles  away !  Well, 
let  him  wait.  She  once  more  turned  her  eyes  away  from 
the  wedding  procession. 

Hubert  did  not  fail  to  observe  the  movement. 

"  No  doubt  they  are  too  low  for  your  attention." 

"  They  certainly  do  not  strike  me  as  aristocratic." 

"  Well,  you  yourself  can  hardly  lay  claim  to  aris- 
tocracy," he  reminded  her.  "  Your  own  extraction  was 
humble  enough ! " 

"  It  was  indeed,"  she  thought,  but  she  made  no  fur- 
ther answer. 

They  walked  home  in  silence.  It  was  the  first  quarrel 
of  their  life. 


XVI 

yJ^T  home  they  retired  to  their  respective  rooms, 
ZJ  Hubert  with  a  rude  sense  of  disillusionment 
^4  M  and  all  but  shattered.  But  the  brooding 
mind  of  the  girl,  stupefied  by  calamities  of 
which  Hubert  knew  nothing,  had  not  yet  grasped  the 
import  of  the  clash  between  them.  What  had  happened 
that  afternoon  was  quite  new  to  her  experience,  but  its 
blackness  was  lost  in  the  deeper  blackness  of  the  tragedy 
generally.  Though  it  was  even  now  dawning  upon  her 
that  a  great  change  had  abruptly  come  in  her  feelings 
for  Arthur,  she  could  not  keep  her  mind  from  engaging 
itself  with  the  picture  of  her  lover  vainly  and  angrily 
searching  for  her.  Of  course  he  would  interpret  her 
silence  as  a  full  corroboration  of  the  vile  stories  that  were 
going  the  round,  and  would  abandon  all  further  desire 
to  hear  any  explanation  from  her.  And  even  if  suspend- 
ing judgment,  he  would  throw  up  everything  just  the 
same,  she  felt  sure,  through  sheer  fading  of  the  impulse 
of  justice  on  which  he  might  well  feel  he  had  already 
acted  sufficiently. 

Nevertheless,  she  was  haunted  by  the  odd  fear  (which 
she  well  knew  to  be  without  reason)  that  he  might  yet 
call  at  the  house,  and  she  therefore  informed  the  maid 
she  would  not  be  well  enough  to  come  down  to  see  any- 
body— whoever  it  might  be !  Meanwhile  she  was  racked 
by  the  strain  of  awaiting  this  more  than  remote  possi- 
bility. 

Yet  she  was  realizing  more  and  more  that  she  no 
longer  cared  for  him.  Emotions,  like  people,  may  find 
their  ending  violently.  Amid  all  this  stress  her  love  for 
him  had  suddenly  ceased — it  had  been  throttled  by  her 

354 


THE  HUSBAND  355 

pride.  She  felt  as  if  she  had  been  touched  by  a  magic 
wand  and  released  from  the  sway  of  a  great  illusion. 

For,  in  spite  of  all  that  had  occurred  to  humiliate  her, 
her  pride  was  still  even  greater  than  his,  she  told  herself, 
and  she  was  not  going  to  stoop  and  humble  herself 
before  anybody.  Nay,  more,  if  he  were  to  go  down  on 
liis  knees  now  and  beg  her  to  marry  him,  she  would  most 
certainly  refuse.  Not  that  there  was  the  slightest  chance 
of  his  exhibiting  any  such  magnanimity — as  she  well 
knew.  Still  she  could  not  keep  her  mind  from  imagining 
some  such  interview,  till  at  last  she  almost  came  to  believe 
in  it.  The  minutes  became  long  tracts  of  agony,  and 
her  heart  leapt  tremblingly  whenever  she  heard  a  passing 
hansom.  Yet  towards  dinner-time,  she  roused  herself, 
dressed  carefully,  and  descended  to  face  the  table 
brazenly,  with  an  arrogant  freshness  of  countenance  and 
spirits  that  was  almost  miraculous.  Over  the  meal 
Hubert  sat  repressed  and  sullen,  but  May  chatted  away 
with  an  apparent  unconsciousness  of  anything  abnormal ! 

Later,  she  paid  dearly  for  the  effort,  and  the  evening, 
moreover,  was  a  renewal  of  anxious  waiting  and  specu- 
lation which  she  knew  to  be  absurd. 

But  if  Arthur  did  not  come,  the  last  post  brought  her 
another  letter  from  him.  "  How  reckless  of  him !  "  she 
thought  mockingly.  "  Two  letters  in  one  day.  Never 
rains  but  pours." 

She  locked  the  door  illogically  behind  the  retiring 
maid.  Excited  as  she  had  been  till  now,  that  was  nothing 
compared  with  this  dizzy  moment.  Yet  the  letter  could 
contain  no  surprise  for  her — her  palpitation  only  marked 
the  moment  of  the  crisis. 

All,  in  fact,  was  just  as  she  had  supposed.  Arthur 
began  with  petulant  complaint.  He  was  evidently  very 
angry ;  quite  at  a  loss,  as  he  put  it,  to  understand  what 
was  implied  by  this  continued  and  apparently  deliberate 
avoidance  of  him.  He  had  simply  desired  to  inform 
her  that  she  and  her  family  were  being  finely  talked 


356  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

about.  Obviously  the  untarnished  honour  of  his  house 
could  not  be  associated  with  the  least  sullying  breath  of 
scandal.  As  for  himself,  he  was  not  altogether  disin- 
clined to  stand  by  her,  if  these  stories  were  merely 
malicious — though,  in  any  case,  now  that  scandal  had 
got  about,  he  feared  his  father's  opposition  would  prove 
unsurmountable.  On  the  other  hand,  if  the  gossip  now 
current  had  any  foundation  in  fact,  she  would  herself,  as 
a  sensible  girl,  be  able  to  see  how  near  Lady  Wycliffe's 
indiscreet  acquaintanceship  with  her  family  had  come  to 
bringing  a  blameless  young  man  to  the  verge  of  catas- 
trophe— a  young  man  whose  disinterestedness  (at  any 
rate  so  far  as  the  question  of  a  suitable  fortune  was  con- 
cerned) she  would  readily  admit. 

Not  one  line  of  sympathy  for  her,  she  noticed ;  merely 
a  roundabout  indication  that  she  ought  to  release  him. 
Evidently  his  diplomatic  training  was  proceeding  apace  { 

She  felt  like  fainting,  as  she  suddenly  realized  again, 
in  its  whole  import  what  had  befallen  her.  Indifferent 
as  she  might  be  about  an  affection  that  was  now  dead, 
she  was  still  overwhelmed  by  the  sense  of  the  sudden 
tragic  alteration  in  her  whole  position.  She  saw  her 
imperious  ambitions  crumbled  to  dust.  But  she  set  her 
lips,  dashed  some  cold  water  over  her  face,  and  forced 
herself  to  sit  down  to  write  him  a  brief  note  at  once. 

"  DEAR  ARTHUR," — she  said — "  It  is  really  generous 
of  you  not  to  be  '  altogether  disinclined  to  stand  by  me,' 
but  it  would  scarcely  be  right  of  me  to  put  such  a  strain 
on  your  heroism.  Therefore,  with  your  kind  permission, 
I  will  leave  you  to  stand  alone — that  is,  so  far  as  I  am 
concerned — as  I  feel  sure  that  the  vacant  place  at  your 
side  will  readily  be  filled  by  somebody  happier  than  my- 
self both  in  fortune  and  in  immunity  from  patronage 
and  scandal.  Confidently  wishing  you  every  success  in 
your  diplomatic  career,  I  remain,  Yours  truly, 

"  MAY  RUTHVEN." 


THE  HUSBAND  357 

Her  impulse  had  been  to  write  bitingly,  but  she 
thought  better  of  it  after  a  few  lines,  and  preferred  to 
cut  the  letter  short. 

Tears  came  as  she  addressed  the  envelope — came  as  a 
relief.  For  some  minutes  she  yielded  herself  to  the  sobs 
that  could  not  be  restrained. 

Lady  Wy cliff e's  patronage !  So  this  was  the  humilia- 
tion she  had  been  destined  for !  She  patronized ! — she 
with  her  pride !  She  who  had  taken  it  for  granted  that 
her  irresistible  fascination  entitled  her  to  queen  it  over 
the  highest !  She  was  clever  enough  to  see  the  situation 
in  a  clear  light — how  Constance's  big  and  brilliant  party 
had  made  them  a  mark  for  this  irresponsibly  spiteful 
scandal,  this  nightmare  distortion  of  the  truth ! 

Then  came  a  convulsive  moment  of  revolt.  She  was 
sick,  she  cried  out  to  herself,  of  the  terrible  swirl  of 
emotion  in  which  she  had  been  living;  she  was  sick  of 
the  degrading  sensation  of  lying  crushed  and  helpless. 
No,  no,  she  would  not  endure  it  any  longer;  she  would 
rather  be  dead  altogether! 

And  then  the  girl's  irrepressible  spirit  leapt  up  again, 
and  she  drew  herself  together  in  all  her  stubborn  pride, 
seeing  at  that  moment  the  one  possible  way  of  redeem- 
ing her  life.  She  was  in  the  position  of  the  desperate 
gambler,  and,  though  the  stakes  to  be  won  were  those 
she  had  once  already  recklessly  disdained  in  the  full  flood 
of  her  prosperity,  they  seemed  to  her  wonderfully  desir- 
able now,  and  to  be  well  worth  the  trying  for.  If  she 
failed,  then  she  would  be  content  to  have  risked  every- 
thing on  the  one  throw. 

With  quick  decision  she  changed  her  evening  dress  for 
an  ordinary  day  frock,  bathing  her  face  and  temples 
with  eau-de-cologne.  Then,  glancing  at  her  watch,  she 
arranged  her  hat,  threw  a  light  cloak  over  her  shoulders, 
and  hurriedly  went  down-stairs. 

There  was  nobody  about  in  the  hall,  so  she  slipped  out 
into  the  street,  glad  there  was  no  necessity  to  murmur 


358  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

the  words  almost  on  her  lips:  "  I  am  just  running  to  the 
post-office." 

Instead,  she  dropped  her  letter  into  the  nearest  pillar- 
box,  then  took  a  hansom  to  Jermyn  Street,  determined, 
with  characteristic  impulsive  dash,  to  put  her  destiny  to 
the  test  without  a  single  moment's  delay.  As  she  was 
rattled  along,  odd  recollections  of  other  visits  to  Pres- 
ton in  years  gone  by  mingled  with  her  anxious  specula- 
tion as  to  whether  she  should  find  him  at  his  chambers. 
His  sitting-room  up  four  flights  of  stairs  was  a  queer 
nest — she  had  a  vivid  picture  of  Preston  lounging  in 
one  of  those  large  comfortable  arm-chairs  in  red  leather, 
the  incongruity  of  which  amid  such  dilettant  and  eccen- 
tric surroundings  had  always  struck  her.  It  was  a 
relief,  she  found,  to  let  her  over-strained  mind  dwell  idly 
on  this  and  other  trivial  details. 

The  familiar  shop  on  the  ground  floor  was  shuttered 
and  gloomy.  She  rang  the  bell  of  the  door  at  the  side, 
and  the  same  nasty  man  answered  her  as  of  old.  As 
usual  he  was  reeking  of  alcohol,  and  leered  at  her  with  a 
puffed  purplish  countenance,  from  which  shone  an  arro- 
gant consciousness  of  the  profits  of  the  long-leased 
"  commodious  upper  part,"  tempered  by  the  humility 
of  valeting  and  boot-blacking. 

He  did  not  know  if  Mr.  Preston  had  gone  to  his  club 
that  evening,  but  would  see.  Anyway  he  could  run 
round  the  corner  to  St.  James's  Street,  and  ask  for  him 
at  the  club  door.  -She  expressed  her  thanks,  whereupon 
he  gave  her  a  knowing  glance,  full  of  prudence,  with 
depths  beyond  depths  of  meaning;  as  if  to  indicate  her 
reputation  was  perfectly  safe  in  his  keeping,  that,  as 
one  who  had  let  chambers  for  gentlemen  for  a  score  of 
years  and  upwards,  he  had  had  lots  of  experience  of  that 
sort  of  thing,  and  was  not  in  the  least  astonished  to  see 
her. 

He  left  her  standing  in  the  tiny  stuffy  corridor,  and 
disappeared  up  the  sharp  turn  of  the  narrow  flight  of 


THE  HUSBAND  359 

stairs  that  began  only  a  few  feet  from  the  door.  She 
felt  rather  disgusted  that  rich  bachelors  could  put  up 
with  such  places,  and  was  glad  to  find  diversion  in  the 
thought. 

Soon  she  heard  the  man  descending,  and  presently  he 
announced  to  her  that  Mr.  Preston  was  at  home.  She  at 
once  followed  him  up  the  four  flights,  smiling  her  thanks 
as  she  passed  into  the  sitting-room  that  flashed  again 
on  her  in  all  its  olden  familiarity. 

Preston  himself,  sunk  in  a  deep  arm-chair  (just  as  she 
had  imagined  him),  was  engaged  in  the  mild  occupa- 
tion of  drinking  tea,  one  end  of  his  table  being  laid  in 
primitive  fashion.  In  the  fender  a  copper  kettle  steamed 
over  a  spirit-lamp. 

"  I'm  caught  indulging  my  vice ! "  he  exclaimed 
pleasantly,  as  he  rose  and  came  forward  to  shake  hands. 
He  exhibited  no  sign  of  surprise. 

She,  however,  was  hardly  prepared  to  be  so  taken  for 
granted,  and  had  to  collect  herself  to  meet  him  on  even 
ground. 

"  Call  it  something  prettier  than  that,  please,"  she 
managed  to  flash  back.  "  Because  you  may  be  inspired 
to  hospitality,  and  that  would  hardly  be  a  nice  thing  to 
offer  me." 

"  Will  *  virtue '  do  ?  Used  not  our  grandfathers  to 
say  that  all  virtues  carried  to  excess  were  vices?  I  was 
merely  carrying  it  to  excess.  Fact  is,  I've  taken  to 
drinking  of  late.  Whenever  I  feel  bored  at  the  club  of 
an  evening — and  that  is  pretty  frequently — I  come  home 
and  dispose  of  three  large  cups,  pale  golden-brown,  and 
no  sugar  or  milk.  I  have  not  yet  got  through  the  first, 
so  there  is  still  an  ample  store  of  hospitality  at  my  dis- 
posal." 

She  had  dropped  into  an  old  rickety  Sheraton  arm- 
chair, and  he  resumed  his  own  seat  at  the  end  of  the 
table  nearest  the  hearth,  letting  his  eyes  rest  on  her  face 
searchingly  for  a  brief  moment.  Her  radiant  freshness 


360  ONE'S  WOMENK1ND 

was  almost  miraculous  after  the  anguish  she  had  been 
enduring,  and  she  met  his  gaze  squarely.  But  she  felt 
him  reading  beyond  her  superficial  mask,  and  presently, 
in  order  to  escape,  looked  away  round  the  room,  with 
simulated  interest,  taking  in  with  a  leisurely,  though 
comprehensive  movement  of  her  head  the  mass  of  comic 
coloured  prints  that  hung  above  the  mantel,  itself 
crowded  with  cards,  photographs  and  bits  of  old  china 
(mostly  chipped  and  broken)  ;  the  tall  Empire  bureau, 
in  the  alcove  at  the  side  of  the  hearth,  stuffed  and  laden 
with  a  most  remarkable  chaos  of  letters  and  papers ;  the 
two  great  iron  candlesticks,  fantastically  wrought,  that 
stood  on  a  worm-eaten  cedar-wood  table  against  a  faded 
little  Persian  rug  hung  broadwise  between  the  two  win- 
dows; and  the  few  long  shelves  across  the  one  unbroken 
wall,  that  were  packed  with  books — mostly  mediaeval,  and 
in  oak  and  vellum  bindings — and  surmounted  by  ex- 
quisite china. 

"  What  a  lovely  untidy  den !  "  she  cried  gaily.  "  And 
will  you  give  me  some  of  the  hospitality,  please — I  mean 
the  golden  virtue  ?  How  happy  you  must  be  here !  " 

He  produced  a  cup  and  saucer  from  an  unsuspected 
cupboard  in  the  wall,  carefully  dusted  them,  and  poured 
out  her  tea. 

"  Happy  here?  "  he  echoed.  "  When  fortified  by  ex- 
cess of  virtue,  otherwise — 

He  broke  off,  and  strode  round  the  room  expressively. 

"  How  sad !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Then  why  don't  you 
give  it  up?  " 

"  Give  it  up  ?  This  philosopher's  garret !  "  He  con- 
tinued his  striding.  "  Well,  for  the  sake  of  the  wet 
misty  nights.  I  like  to  have  the  room  dark,  and  to  sit 
after  midnight  at  the  open  window  with  a  terrific  down- 
pour from  the  suggestion  of  inky  sky  one  feels  up  above 
the  mist.  Those  buildings  opposite  loom  so  darkly  and 
softly,  and  then  I  feel  I  am  high  up  in  one  of  those  tall 
narrow  side-streets  off  the  Boulevards.  This  Jermyn 
Street,  with  a  little  imagination,  does  seem  Parisian. 


THE  HUSBAND  361 

An  occasional  hansom  dashes  through  below,  but  up 
here  it  is  so  mystically  silent  and  solitary  that  one  feels 
in  touch  with  the  infinite.  And  the  pour,  pour  continues, 
and  the  mist  grows  thicker,  and  the  universe  is  so  beauti- 
ful. And  there  I  stay  watching  till  the  dawn." 

"  I  shiver  at  the  thought  of  it." 

She  did  shiver,  and  pulled  her  cloak  closer  over  her 
shoulders. 

"But  how  about  the  fine  dry  nights?"  she  asked, 
after  a  moment. 

"  When  I  come  to  think  of  it,  those  are  equally  good," 
he  declared.  "  The  feeling  of  London  that  then  comes 
to  me  from  below  is  that  of  a  dead  city,  of  the  capital  of 
some  ancient  empire  that  passed  away  thousands  of 
years  ago — a  sort  of  superb  Pompeii,  in  fact,  recon- 
structed and  revivified  specially  for  me.  I  often  have 
the  same  feeling  as  I  pass  through  it.  The  countless 
multitudes  of  people  are  all  dead  and  shrivelled  and  long 
since  passed  back  into  the  dust.  But  they  are  all  so 
happily  ignorant  of  it !  " 

She  shivered  again.     "  How  weird !  " 

"  So  you  see,  whether  it's  wet  or  fine,  this  garret  has 
its  consolations." 

"  But  what  about  the  mornings  ?  After  meditating  all 
night  long  like  that,  you  must  get  up  fearfully  late." 

"  Not  later  than  when  I  go  out  to  some  party  or 
other." 

"  What  time  did  you  get  up  on  the  Thursday  of  the 
week  before  last?  "  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  did  not  mean  to  be  personal,"  he  laughed. 
"  But  to  answer  your  question — I  slept  very  soundly, 
indeed,  was  up  refreshed  by  ten,  and  ate  a  most  hearty 
breakfast." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that,"  she  said. 

He  looked  at  her  sharply,  but  she  was  sipping  her  tea 
and  her  head  was  bent  forward,  her  hat  largely  conceal- 
ing her  features.  He  could  not  see  her  eyes,  but  her 


362  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

cheeks  were  redder.  Suddenly  she  threw  her  head  back 
and  broke  into  laughter. 

"  My  appetite  both  vexes  and  amuses  you — appar- 
ently," he  grumbled. 

"  Your  appetite  annoyed  me  shockingly,  I  admit. 
But  my  amusement  was  due  to  an  odd  memory." 

"  Odd  memories  are  the  most  amusing  things  in  the 
world." 

"  You  used  to  oversleep  when  I  was  a  child — I  heard 
you  telling  uncle  about  it  one  morning,  just  when  you 
were  about  to  leave  England.  You  put  it  down  to  a 
demon,  and  gave  me  a  terrible  fright." 

"  Ah,  I  remember,  too."  He  threw  himself  again  into 
the  great  arm-chair.  "  Those  must  have  been  happy 
days  for  you." 

"  You  were  more  chivalrous  then,  certainly  more  sen- 
timental." 

"  I  am  certainly  ever  so  much  more  sentimental  now," 
he  declared ;  "  and  I  hope  I  am  not  less  chivalrous. 
Then  I  was  a  hardened  cynic." 

"  Now  you  are  gentler,  I  know,"  she  said.  "  But  in 
those  days  you  believed  in  broken  rings  and  plighted 
troths  and  everlasting  fidelity;  whereas  now " 

"  I  believe  in  broken  hearts  as  well." 

"  Whereas  now  you  eat  big  breakfasts.  I  repeat  your 
appetite  is  disgraceful,  and  it  annoys  me." 

"  Rather  than  that  I  withdraw  it  and  the  slumber,  too. 
I  thought  the  fib  would  please  you — for  fib  it  was !  I 
sat  at  the  open  window  that  Thursday  till  long  after 
dawn." 

"  You  were  thinking,  no  doubt,  of  the  little  joke  you 
had  played  off  on  me,  and  the  glorious  way  I  was  caught 
by  it." 

"  I  wasn't  as  proud  of  the  joke  as  all  that,"  he 
murmured. 

They  sat  silent.     They  sipped  their  eternal  tea. 

"  Let  me  pour  you  another  cup,"  he  said  suddenly. 


THE  HUSBAND  363 

She  did  not  refuse,  and  he  filled  his  own  as  well. 

"  It  was  mean  of  me  to  pretend  the  thing  was  only 
a  little  joke — wasn't  it?  "  she  asked. 

"  Why,  wasn't  it  a  joke?  " 

"  No  fencing,"  she  warned  him. 

He  considered  a  moment.  "  It  shall  be  whatever  you 
wish." 

"  It  was  mean  of  me,"  she  insisted. 

"  Merciful !  " 

The  new  cups  of  tea  were  standing.  Simultaneously 
they  raised  them  to  their  lips  as  if  both  struck  simultane- 
ously by  the  fear  that  the  liquid  might  cool. 

"  Do  you  know,  I  am  perfectly  sick  of  the  London 
season,"  she  broke  out  abruptly.  "  I  wish  I  were  hun- 
dreds of  miles  away  from  it !  " 

"  Surely  the  wish  is  easy  to  realize." 

"  But  I  want  other  things  to  go  with  it.  It  is  entirely 
a  different  kind  of  life  I  want  from  what  I  have  hitherto 
been  leading.  I  want  to  do  something  for  poor  people 
— to  help  them  and  make  them  happier.  I  was  walking 
with  uncle  to-day,  and  we  saw  such  a  terrible  wreck  of  a 
poor  woman.  Uncle  thought  I  despised  her.  Now  I 
really  didn't — though  I  said  something  superior  that  I 
didn't  mean  a  bit.  You  understand?  " 

"  Your  philanthropic  ambitions  do  you  credit,"  he 
said  dryly. 

"  You  have  heard  the  talk  about  us,"  she  exclaimed 
quickly,  immediately  catching  the  implication  of  his 
tone. 

"  Well,  yes,"  he  admitted.  "  I  confess  I  have  had  the 
honour  this  evening  of  throwing,  not  a  glass  of  wine, 
but  a  huge  tankard  of  excellent  stout  in  the  face  of  an 
extremely  good-natured  old  fellow,  who,  I  am  sure,  has 
never  harmed  a  fly  in  his  whole  life,  and  to  whose  stupid 
ancient  head  and  breezy  laughter  I  am  indebted  for 
much  entertainment.  Now  I  am  to  be  sat  upon  by  the 
club  committee." 


364  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

"  And  so  you  came  home  to  console  yourself  with 
tea !  "  Her  eyes  glistened  tearfully. 

He  saw  she  was  moved.  "  My  dear  little  girl,"  he  said 
affectionately.  "  Don't  let  the  thing  bother  you  at  all. 
You  will  not  be  on  people's  tongues  for  more  than  a 
day  or  two — they  take  it  as  a  good  joke  more  than 
anything  else.  You  will  be  happy  in  spite  of  it." 

"  Nobody  at  home  knows  anything  yet,  and  I  hope  it 
won't  reach  their  ears.  I  fancy  aunt  won't  find  out 
unless  she  meets  with  some  unkindness,  and  who  would 
be  rude  enough  to  tell  her?  But  our  fashionable  exist- 
ence was  doomed  all  the  same — uncle,  I  more  than  sus- 
pect, had  already  made  up  his  mind  about  that!  And 
in  any  case  Gwenny  was  going  into  a  convent  soon. 
Happy  soul !  "  she  sighed. 

"  Your  domestic  politics  are  not  entirely  unfamiliar  to 
me,"  said  Preston.  "  However,  since  we  are  talking  so 
frankly,  and  I  am  after  all  one  of  your  oldest  friends, 
may  I  suggest  that  it  would  not  be  out  of  place  if  you 
were  even  a  shade  more  frank  with  me.  There  is  one 
point,  for  instance,  on  which  you  have  not  yet  enlight- 
ened me." 

"  As  usual — there  is  no  hiding  secrets  from  you.  As 
for  that — it  is  broken  off.  I  am  glad.  See,  my  hands 
are  quite  steady !  "  She  held  up  her  cup  firmly.  "  And 
now,  Mr.  Wizard,  you  will  help  me  to  live  the  kind  of 
life  I  want — won't  you  ?  "  , 

"  So  far  as  I  possibly  can." 

"  That  is  nice  of  you.  I  want  to  live  very  simply,  but 
far,  far  away  from  this  hateful  London,  and  to  be  a  sort 
of  Lady  Bountiful — to  do  good  to  as  many  people  who 
are  worth  it  up  to  my  full  powers.  I  have  a  small  for- 
tune, as  you  know." 

"  Why  not  be  guided  by  Hubert  ?  Surely  your  idea 
would  delight  him !  " 

"  Because  I  want  the  idea  to  delight  you.  Don't  you 
approve  of  it?  " 


THE  HUSBAND  365 

"  I  always  approve  of  whatever  delights  Hubert." 

"  Thank  you."  She  set  her  cup  down  on  the  table, 
and,  leaving  her  cloak  on  her  chair,  she  came  over  and 
stood  by  the  hearth,  smiling  in  all  the  freshness  of  her 
beauty.  Her  eyes  wandered  round  the  room  again, 
dwelling  once  more,  for  an  instant,  on  the  iron  candle- 
sticks that  stood  on  the  cedar-wood  table  against  the 
Persian  rug.  Then  she  turned  to  him  again.  "  Now, 
not  so  very  many  evenings  ago,"  she  resumed ;  "  you 
were  good  enough  to  consent  to  confide  in  me,  but  we 
agreed  at  the  time  that  the  confidence  should  be  treated 
as  a  joke — the  same  joke  which  we  have  just  now  agreed 
is  to  be  taken  seriously  after  all.  Well,  in  return,  may 
I  not  confide  in  you?  " 

"  Not  a  new  joke  this?  " 

"  No,  indeed ! "  She  opened  wide  coquettish  eyes. 
Then  she  turned  her  face  away  from  him  again  and  idly 
examined  the  bric-a-brac  on  the  mantelshelf.  "  Well," 
she  continued ;  "  once  upon  a  time,  a  long  while  ago,  I 
lost  my  heart  to  a  brave  knight.  He  was  going  on  a 
long  pilgrimage,  and  I  solemnly  promised  to  be  his 
sweetheart  true  for  life.  We  divided  a  ring,  each  keep- 
ing half.  If  he  will  claim  me  again,  he  will  find  me 
ready  to  redeem  my  promise." 

She  wound  up  all  breathlessly.  She  was  red  now,  and 
her  hands  were  no  longer  steady. 

"  My  dear  child,  you  are  by  far  too  generous.  The 
brave  knight,  as  you  are  kind  enough  to  call  him,  would 
be  mean  indeed  if  he  were  not  to  absolve  you  from  so 
rash  a  promise,  made,  indeed,  at  so  immature  a  period 
of  your  existence." 

"  I  am  disappointed.  The  promise  has  the  full  rati- 
fication and  approval  of  the  very  mature  person  who  has 
enjoyed  two  large  cups  of  your  beautiful  hospitality." 

"  The  knight  cannot  lend  his  approval  to  it,"  he 
answered  sternly. 

"  But  he  approved  of  it  only  a  short  time  since,"  she 


366  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

argued.  "  And  besides,  he  has  already  expressed  his 
approval  of  the  conditions  as  to  the  sort  of  existence  he 
and  I  may  lead  together." 

"  The  conditions  are  fascinating,  but  the  circum- 
stances are  not  the  same  as  they  were — a  short  time  since, 
that  is." 

"  Why,  how  have  they  changed  so  soon  ?  " 

"  Then,  you  were  called  upon  to  decide !  And  you 
would  have  decided  with  your  eyes  open,  prepared  to 
accept  the  sequel.  Now " 

"  Now "  she  murmured,  her  face  white  at  last, 

and  all  the  ghastly  worried  look  in  undisputed  pos- 
session. 

"  The  knight  would  scarcely  be  worthy  of  his  knight- 
hood if,  the  onus  and  responsibility  of  decision  being 
now  upon  him,  he  were  to  take  advantage  of  a  temporary 
mood  due  to  vexatious  circumstances,  and  thrust  the 
sequel  upon  you.  For  you  to  have  accepted  him  then 
would  have  been  a  very  different  thing.  Now  that  the 
responsibility  falls  upon  him,  he  has  a  conscience." 

"  I  do  not  fear  the  sequel." 

"  He  has  a  conscience,"  he  repeatedly  doggedly. 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Preston  swallowed  the 
remainder  of  his  cup  at  a  draught.  The  girl's  fingers 
played  nervously  with  a  little  silver  lion  on  the  mantel. 

"  Then  you  won't  marry  me?  "  she  said. 

"  I  am  not  such  a  selfish  brute,"  he  answered. 

Abruptly  she  left  the  hearth,  took  her  cloak,  and 
again  slipped  it  across  her  shoulders. 

"  Good-night,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hand  stiffly. 
Her  lips,  as  they  closed,  were  drawn  hard.  Her  form 
was  proudly  erect.  In  that  one  instant,  he  felt,  as  he 
caught  the  chill  look  on  her  face,  she  had  drawn  a 
thousand  miles  away  from  him. 

"  Good-night,"  he  returned  quietly.  She  barely  gave 
him  time  to  touch  her  fingers  with  his  own. 

"  Please  don't  see  me  down — I  shall  find  my  way  out." 


THE  HUSBAND  367 

He  respected  the  request,  knowing  she  desired  to 
escape  from  him  at  once.  And  in  a  moment  he  was 
sitting  in  his  deep  arm-chair,  staring  hard  at  nothing. 

He  scarcely  knew  how  long  the  interval  was,  but  the 
sound  of  the  slamming  of  the  street-door  came  up  to 
him  abruptly,  and  he  started  up  violently,  haunted  by 
the  terrible  expression  of  despair  on  her  face  as  she  had 
swept  out  of  the  room,  and  suddenly  remembering  how 
her  mother  had  ended. 


XVII 

TT  fJ^  HEN  May  found  herself  in  the  street  again, 
f/t/  she  stood  still  for  an  instant  in  complete 

r  r  mental  darkness.  But  presently  remem- 

brance and  decision  came  to  her,  and,  with 
a  quick,  nervous  movement,  she  pulled  her  cloak  closer 
round  her  and  began  to  walk  towards  St.  James's-street. 
At  the  corner,  she  stepped  into  a  hansom,  and  ordered 
the  driver  to  take  her  to  Waterloo. 

As  the  vehicle  rattled  off,  she  shrank  back  into  her 
seat  as  if  with  an  instinctive  fear  of  being  recognized  in 
some  sudden  glare  of  illumination.  For  the  streets  were 
in  their  full  evening  bustle.  Hansoms  were  dashing 
about  in  hundreds,  the  side-walks  were  thronged,  the 
club-houses  were  lighted  up.  In  the  Haymarket  the 
theatres  flared,  and  the  sounds  that  reached  her  were  as 
of  a  whole  population  astir. 

And  then  she  fell  a-brooding  on  Preston's  weird  fancy, 
and  it  veritably  seemed  to  her  this  was  the  swarming 
capital  of  some  ancient  mighty  Empire  that  had  long 
since  crumbled  into  the  dust ;  that  she  herself  was  flying 
through  it  in  dream  to  be  restored  to  some  other  life 
that  was  her  true  life,  and  towards  which  her  mind  was 
straining  in  a  vain  effort  of  memory. 

She  found  pleasure  in  abandoning  herself  to  the 
imagining,  for  there  was  nothing  else  in  the  world  that 
called  for  her  attention. 

She  had  thought  to  carve  her  worldly  way  imperi- 
ously, to  gratify  herself  with  pleasure,  and  with  realized 
desires  and  ambitions;  but  fate  had  laughed  at  her! 

Life  on  her  own  terms  had  been  refused  to  her;  she 

368 


THE  HUSBAND  369 

would  not  accept  it  on  any  other  terms !  She  would  die 
with  her  pride  unbroken ! 

Idly  her  eye  took  in  the  ghostly  far-off  spectacle  of 
the  town.  Yet  now  and  again,  as  the  despair  in  her 
soul  came  up  overwhelmingly,  she  caught  her  breath 
with  a  half-moan,  and  her  eyes  were  blinded  by  a  mist. 

When  the  hansom  drew  up  at  Waterloo  station,  she 
resumed  control  of  herself  again,  paying  the  driver  his 
fare  and  buying  her  ticket  with  her  usual  assurance.  A 
Lynford  train  would  be  starting  in  a  few  minutes;  she 
knew  it  well,  as  Hubert,  when  detained  late  at  his 
chambers,  had  often  come  home  by  it. 

After  an  interval  of  dazed  waiting  on  the  platform 
with  a  strange,  slumbrous  sense  of  the  vast  echoing 
terminus,  she  watched  the  train  glide  up  slowly,  and 
presently  she  took  her  seat.  She  was  glad  to  find  herself 
alone  in  the  dim  compartment  when  at  last  it  started  off 
again.  Then  came  the  plunge  into  the  weary  suburban 
darkness,  amid  which  showed  a  grey  wilderness  of  houses 
and  factories,  punctured  with  blinking  points  of  light, 
and  varied  by  the  long  glare  of  some  suburban  High 
Street  as  they  swept  over  a  bridge  that  spanned  it. 

On,  on,  the  train  danced  and  beat;  the  lights  and  the 
dark  masses  of  buildings  grew  rarer,  and  at  length  they 
were  running  through  black  landscapes.  The  night  was 
moonless  but  starry.  The  overpowering  closeness  of  the 
town  and  suburbs  was  replaced  by  a  freer  feeling  of  air 
and  space. 

For  a  time  she  lay  back  against  the  cushions,  conscious 
at  last  of  a  throbbing  fatigue  in  her  limbs.  But  she 
eventually  threw  off  the  torpor,  and  went  to  stand  by 
the  open  window.  She  liked  the  grey,  moving  hedges, 
the  weird  trees,  the  mysterious  depths  of  the  landscapes 
and  of  the  heavens.  How  smoothly  and  evenly  the  train 
ran  through  them,  penetrating — penetrating.  Were 
they  not  making  direct  for  that  bright  star,  twinkling 
at  her  so  invitingly,  low  down  on  the  horizon? 


370  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

Then  suddenly  the  thought  of  her  purpose  rushed 
backed  on  her,  and,  drawing  her  breath  hard,  she  felt 
cut  as  by  a  knife,  and  her  hand  went  up  to  her  breast. 
To  breathe  at  all  she  was  constrained  to  exercise  force 
in  defiance  of  the  pain.  "  Oh,  my  crushed  heart ! "  she 
moaned ;  "  Oh,  my  crushed  heart !  " 

And  presently  she  fell  again  into  her  seat,  and  her 
eyes  that  had  known  no  tears  since  she  had  left  home 
were  now  wet,  and  she  could  not  check  her  sobs. 

The  great,  cool  shadows  brooded  softly  over  the 
stretches  of  hill  and  field,  but  could  bring  her  no  calm. 

But,  like  everything  else,  the  fit  of  weeping  ran  its 
course,  and  she  relapsed  for  the  rest  of  the  journey  into 
a  stony  resigned  indifference.  The  proximity  of  Lyn- 
ford  was  at  length  indicated  to  her  by  the  familiar  little 
wayside  stations,  dreary  and  deserted,  at  which  the  train 
made  momentary  stoppages.  Already  she  began  to 
arrange  her  hat  so  that  it  might  overshadow  her  face 
the  more,  for,  though  she  knew  it  was  an  idle  fear  that 
anybody  about  the  station  might  recognize  her,  she  was 
yet  anxious  to  attract  as  little  notice  as  possible.  She 
had  been  well  known  to  the  station-master  in  the  olden 
days,  but  of  course  she  had  grown  and  changed,  and, 
besides,  she  would  slip  out  of  the  station  very  quickly. 

And  so,  when  the  train  finally  pulled  up  at  Lynford, 
she  was  able  to  escape  without  observation,  just  as  she 
had  anticipated.  Her  carriage  came  to  a  stand  near  the 
exit,  and  she  gave  up  her  ticket  and  passed  out  briskly, 
barely  conscious  that  some  half-a-dozen  other  passengers 
had  alighted,  and  were  straggling  along  the  platform 
behind  her. 

The  little  town  was  already  asleep.  Her  own  foot- 
fall alarmed  her  as  she  hastened  along  the  shuttered 
High-street  to  get  to  the  country  road.  Every  now  and 
again  she  would  catch  the  sound  of  voices,  and  soon 
after  would  come  upon  little  groups  of  men  and  women 
chatting  at  some  wayside  corner.  But  to  her  high- 


THE  HUSBAND  371 

strung  mood  they  scarcely  seemed  real.  London  had 
become  the  reality  again,  and  this  only  the  dream.  The 
lighted  dining-room  at  Portland  Place,  the  glare  and 
hubbub  and  dash  of  Piccadilly  Circus,  the  crowded 
houses  of  their  friends — these  all  thrust  themselves  up 
before  her  in  living  vividness.  There  in  London  pulsed 
the  blood  of  life,  the  lights  flared,  the  hansoms  rattled, 
the  newsboys  shouted.  That  was  reality — splendid  real- 
ity that  beat  itself  against  one.  This  was  all  a  shadow, 
part  of  the  greater  shadow  that  brooded  above  and 
around  and  into  which  it  all  merged — this  dim  agglom- 
eration of  silent,  sleeping,  tortuous  streets  and  ghostly 
chimney-stacks;  a  fading  vision  seen  by  preoccupied 
attention,  a  hesitating  suggestion  whispered  into  the  ear 
of  a  sleeper ! 

Soon  she  had  traversed  the  full  length  of  the  High- 
street.  The  pavement  ended;  the  road  twisted  and 
turned  between  homes  that  slept  in  sweet  silence  amid 
old  gardens  behind  high,  mossy  walls.  The  lamps  grew 
rarer.  And,  the  last  isolated  house  once  left  behind  her, 
she  distinguished  with  difficulty  the  stretch  of  the  road- 
way. The  whole  countryside  lay  gloriously  free  and 
vast  under  a  multitude  of  stars,  and  she  was  conscious 
of  the  sweet  hill-sides  that  stretched  in  the  distance  in 
great  undulations.  But  only  the  dusk-grey  hedges  were 
softly  visible  on  either  hand  as  she  stepped  along.  The 
air  was  still. 

She  was  sure  of  her  way,  and  at  that  hour — it  was 
near  mid-night — she  was  hardly  likely  to  meet  anybody. 
So  her  pace  slackened  and  her  feet  went  on  mechanic- 
ally, the  whilst  she  again  lapsed  into  a  daze,  a  mental 
emptiness,  till  she  was  startled  out  of  it  by  the  rumbling 
along  of  a  belated  cart.  As  soon  as  it  had  well  passed 
her  by,  she  came  away  from  the  hedge  against  which 
she  had  crouched,  and  pursued  her  way.  But,  somehow, 
the  break  had  made  a  difference.  She  was  trembling 
now — she  knew  not  why — and  she  was  glad  to  rest 


372  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

against  a  barred  gate  that  was  all  wet  from  the  dew. 
Her  fingers,  her  ears,  her  feet  were  burning,  her  knees 
were  beating  together.  "  Oh  my  crushed  heart,  oh  my 
crushed  heart !  "  was  all  she  could  think,  all  she  could 
murmur. 

She  closed  her  eyes  till  the  pain  should  pass,  but, 
after  a  moment  or  two,  she  abruptly  began  to  go  for- 
ward again.  What  a  pity  there  was  no  moon  to-night ! 
was  her  sudden  thought.  She  had  come  specially  to  see 
the  old  garden  again  in  the  moon-light,  to  visit  for  the 
last  time  the  favourite  nooks  of  her  childhood,  those 
she  had  so  often  haunted  when  she  had  stolen  from  her 
bed  on  summer  nights  with  only  a  cloak  round  her,  and 
had  gone  down  just  to  see  what  was  happening.  At 
night-time,  she  had  been  wont  to  fancy  that  it  was 
entirely  a  different  region  from  the  garden  of  her  play- 
hours.  She  felt  a  keen  disappointment  at  the  prospect 
that  her  journey  might  be  vain,  then  laughed  at  herself 
for  being  capable  of  such  an  emotion.  What  mattered 
the  journey,  the  little  extra  bustle  and  energy  .  .  .  By 
the  morning  it  would  be  all  the  same! 

Soon  she  struck  off  the  main-road  that  led  ultimately 
to  the  front  of  the  old  house,  and  took  the  rougher  by- 
road that  ran  downwards  to  the  hidden  little  gate,  of 
her  first  coming  to  which,  in  her  childhood,  she  had  still 
a  vivid  remembrance.  Here  she  seemed  to  be  plunging 
into  even  intenser  darkness.  The  dim,  fantastic  trees 
hung  over  her  head.  She  stumbled  each  moment  in 
the  deep  ruts  and  over  the  invisible  inequalities  of  the 
way. 

At  last  she  arrived  at  the  slippery  steps  that  led  to 
the  well-known  gate.  As  the  house  had  never  yet  been 
re-occupied,  she  was  not  intruding  on  strangers.  A 
faint  feeling  of  exhilaration  came  over  her  as  she  stood 
once  more  in  the  thick  of  the  little  plantation.  She 
could  almost  have  imagined  that  the  last  few  years  had 
never  been,  and  she  was  happy  amid  everything  and 


THE  HUSBAND  373 

everybody  she  loved,  and  was  now  merely  at  her  favourite 
nocturnal  pranks. 

Yes,  it  was  good  to  feel  she  was  here  at  last,  with  the 
smell  of  the  pines  in  her  nostrils.  It  made  her  feel  she 
had  not  come  in  vain,  despite  the  pitchy  darkness.  If 
the  whole  place  were  not  bound  to  be  so  weed-grown  by 
now,  she  would  not  even  have  lamented  the  absence  of 
moonlight. 

Yes,  yes,  she  was  glad  she  had  come,  she  kept  repeat- 
ing. She  felt  suddenly  she  had  it  all  to  herself — this 
wild,  sweet  garden.  She  forgot  she  had  been  faithless 
to  it;  once  again  it  had  taken  the  place  it  had  had  in 
the  affections  of  her  childhood.  She  held  out  her  arms 
with  an  all-embracing  sweep;  it  was  splendid  to  think 
that  she  was  mistress  of  it  all  to-night,  free  to  wander 
and  to  linger  where  she  listed,  and  not  a  soul  to  interrupt 
her  mood.  Souls !  There  seemed  to  be  none  within  a 
hundred  miles  of  her.  What  a  wild  joy  to  be  again 
amid  these  glorious  pine-trees,  to  be  knee-deep  in  the 
tangled  field,  to  be  treading  the  old  lawns,  and  explor- 
ing all  the  mysterious  paths  amid  the  familiar  shrub- 
beries ! 

She  laughed  softly  to  herself — it  was  the  pleased 
laugh  of  a  happy  child,  yet  had  in  it  some  ring  of 
insanity. 

By  old  habit  she  was  now  traversing  a  favourite 
route.  She  could  have  found  her  way  blindfold,  so 
familiar  was  she  with  every  tree  and  mound  and  stone. 
She  skirted  the  tangled  field,  steered  through  the  pines, 
and  went  across  the  lawn.  Her  shoes  were  by  now  wet 
through  and  through,  yet  she  was  scarcely  aware  of  it. 

But  as,  at  last,  she  came  close  to  the  shuttered  empty 
house,  her  curiosity  about  it  vanished,  and  she  shrank 
away  from  the  dark  mass,  thrust  back  by  its  desolate- 
ness.  The  thought,  too,  of  the  remainder  of  the  garden 
that  lay  beyond  it  made  her  shudder.  In  their  childhood 
she  and  her  sister  had  shunned  it  as  a  forlorn,  mysteri- 


374  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

ous  region,  and  had  whispered  each  other  gruesome 
imaginings  about  it.  Now  that  old  feeling  surged  up 
again,  and  the  house  and  all  that  lay  beyond  seemed 
given  up  to  vague  demons,  eerily  at  home  in  the  dim 
corners.  And  not  a  human  soul  within  a  hundred  miles 
of  her ! 

Back  she  went  with  her  spirits  dulled  again.  Why 
didn't  the  moon  come  out  and  silver  the  tangled  field 
and  border  it  with  the  shadows  of  the  pine-trees?  Why 
didn't  the  wind  blow  music  among  the  branches?  Where 
was  the  nightingale? 

She  halted  at  length  by  an  old  fallen  trunk  that  lay 
at  the  foot  of  a  great  solitary  elm,  and  had  been  pre- 
served for  her  own  special  behoof  as  an  agreeable  touch 
of  nature.  It  had  always  made  such  a  lovely  seat,  and 
now  she  found  with  surprise  that  she  was  glad  at  the 
idea  of  resting  there  awhile.  She  sank  down,  propping 
her  back  against  the  tree  behind. 

Her  limbs  seemed  broken  with  fatigue.  The  strange 
energy  which  had  carried  her  through  these  last  hours 
fell  away.  She  closed  her  eyes  and  her  head  drooped. 

Thus  she  remained  seated,  only  shifting  her  position  to 
settle  her  back  more  comfortably  against  the  rugged  elm 
that  spread  its  foliage  far  overhead.  Ah,  how  weak 
and  tired  she  felt,  how  good  it  was  to  rest  a  moment ! 

Poor  dear  Hubert !  She  had  not  really  meant  to  vex 
him.  .  .  .  But  perhaps  it  was  just  as  well.  No,  no, 
she  did  not  quite  mean  that,  only  when  one  ran  away  to 
put  an  end  to  oneself  it  was  appropriate  there  should  be 
as  much  bitterness  as  possible.  The  next  moment  she 
was  crying  softly.  And  Preston,  too — how  foolish  of 
him  not  to  marry  her  when  he  loved  her !  She  could  have 
got  on  quite  well  with  him,  too.  And  as  for  Arthur 
Roburne — well,  perhaps  she  had  deceived  herself  and 
had  never  cared  for  him  at  all.  But  what  was  the  use  of 
thinking  about  these  things?  There  was  nothing  for 
her  to  live  for  anyway.  .  .  .  And  how  untidy  Preston's 


THE  HUSBAND  375 

rooirs  were !  What  fun  it  would  have  been  pretending 
to  want  to  put  them  straight  for  him — just  to  see  how 
cross  he'd  have  got  about  it !  ...  "  The  faded  rug 
on  his  wall,  with  those  two  monster  candlesticks  in  front, 
is  really  very  artistic — makes  a  sort  of  shrine.  Now  I 
think  the  rug  in  the  MacFarlane's  hall  is  horrible — it 
shines  so,  just  like  a  sleek  brilliant  cat.  .  .  .  The 
James's  concert  wasn't  much  of  a  success,  but  I  don't  see 
how  they  could  have  expected  anything  better.  Helen's 
voice  is  pretty  enough,  but  she  never  has  worked,  and 
her  brother  is  a  little  too  hard  and  bangy.  I  like  a  soft 
fluidity,  something  with  melody  in  it,  but  nothing 
sad.  .  .  .  Now  that  there  is  a  breeze,  it  seems  quite 
chill." 

She  huddled  closer  against  the  elm,  opened  her  eyes 
a  moment  on  the  vague  spaces,  then  closed  them  immedi- 
ately. Her  mind  wandered  off  again,  darting  here  and 
there,  recalling  comic  incidents  of  their  travels,  and 
jumping  from  table-d'  hote  at  Milan  to  her  first  day  at 
school  in  London,  or  from  lunch  at  Mrs.  Drummond's  to 
that  awful  moment  of  her  childhood  when  she  had 
dropped  the  prism,  temporarily  borrowed  for  a  spy- 
glass from  the  lustre  that  was  the  pride  of  her  mother's 
mantelpiece. 

And  as  the  girl  crouched  there  in  the  soft  night,  she 
finally  passed  into  a  half-doze.  Yet  she  was  still  con- 
scious of  her  thoughts,  now  passing  into  living  pictures, 
with  fantastic  touches  of  invention  against  which  her 
reason  made  no  protest.  Occasionally  her  hand  pulled 
up  her  slipping  cloak  as  the  breeze  blew  cooler.  And 
the  procession  of  images  continued. 

The  hours  went  by.  Sometimes,  as  though  cramped, 
she  shifted  her  position  automatically,  stretched  her  stiff, 
tired  limbs.  Sometimes  her  lips  murmured  words,  some- 
times she  spoke  out  aloud.  There  were  moments,  too, 
amid  the  grotesquerie  of  her  dreams  when  her  thoughts 
were  vividly  logical  to  her. 


376  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

"  I  hate  your  peacocks  and  chrysanthemums  and 
goody-goody  saints,  and  your  Lancelots  and  King 
Arthurs,"  she  called  out  suddenly,  launching  into 
aesthetic  declamation.  "  Give  me  a  picture  with  the 
artist's  own  inspiration.  .  .  .  Ah,  Sir  Lancelot,  why 
are  you  standing  over  me  ?  Do  you  take  me  for  a  beauti- 
ful maiden  lost  in  the  wilderness?  .  .  .  Did  you  say 
*  yes  ' — did  I  hear  you  say  '  yes  '  ?  "  she  exclaimed 
excitedly. 

Her  eyes  opened  in  her  sleep  and  rested  vaguely  on 
the  shadowy  figure  that  seemed  to  flit  back  and  melt  into 
the  darkness.  Then  they  closed  again,  and,  as  the 
breeze  rose  once  more,  she  began  talking  to  herself  again. 
"  Oh,  I  must  fly  away,  if  you  will  go  on  with  that  music. 
Why,  you  never  seem  to  play  anything  save  those 
strange  unhappy  Russian  masters.  They  affect  me  too 
deeply  and  send  me  all  into  discords.  .  .  .  Ah ! "  She 
shivered.  "  No,  no,  I  can't  bear  the  elusive  emotion  of 
those  wonderful  Russians.  A  soul  in  pain  seems  to  be 
trying  to  make  itself  heard  all  through  the  music.  Give 
me  music  that  makes  me  think  of  the  laugh  of  a  happy 
child."  Then  as  the  breeze  died  away :  "  That's  better, 
thank  you — how  much  warmer  I  feel !  It  was  so  cold 
just  now.  I  love  dear  soft  colours  and  beautiful  chil- 
dren and  lovely  palaces  and  dances  and  fun.  No  more 
cold  music,  but  warm  music — warm,  warm !  " 

The  moon  came  out  late  and  shone  on  all  the  land- 
scape. The  house  looked  less  desolate,  as  if  the  demons 
had  gone  elsewhere.  Soon  the  dawn  came — a  gentle, 
dreamy  dawn  with  the  universe  wrapped  in  a  gentle 
meditation,  and  the  pale  crescent  lingering. 

The  light  was  quite  strong  when  May  started  abruptly 
to  her  feet.  Her  head  was  a-throb,  and  she  stood  up  with 
pain.  Ah!  she  remembered  all.  How  foolish  to  have 
gone  to  sleep  in  that  ridiculous  fashion ! 

In  annoyance,  she  took  out  her  watch.  It  was  a 
quarter-past  four.  She  knew  that,  in  less  than  half-an- 


THE  HUSBAND  377 

hour,  the  early  London  express  would  dash  through 
Lynford  station,  and,  by  walking  sharply,  she  would  have 
just  easy  time  to  get  there.  The  station  was  the  nearest 
point  on  the  railway,  so  she  must  hurry  away  at  once. 
Not  even  a  porter  would  be  about,  and  the  signal-man 
could  not  possibly  see  her  from  his  box,  if  she  waited 
under  the  covered  part  of  the  platform — which,  at  this 
usually  quiet  station,  was  accessible  at  all  times. 

An  express  at  fifty  miles  an  hour  gives  you  no  time 
to  think  or  suffer.  It  goes  like  a  tempest,  you  time  your- 
self to  the  second,  shut  your  eyes,  jump,  and  the  "  you  " 
is  at  an  end! 

The  thought  excited  her  more,  and  she  set  her  lips 
tight  as  she  pressed  forward  briskly. 

Very  soon  she  was  following  the  main  road  back 
to  the  little  town,  but  she  looked  neither  to  right  nor 
left,  ignoring  the  rolling  green  hillsides  flooded  with 
fresh  morning  sunlight.  Her  mind  was  obsessed  by  the 
thought  of  the  goal  to  which  she  was  pressing,  by  the 
picture  of  the  swift-flying  roaring  train  and  her  own 
annihilation. 

She  covered  the  ground  without  any  slackening.  There 
was  not  even  an  early  wagon  to  trouble  her.  In  the 
town,  now  that  it  was  day,  she  took  a  short  cut  through 
back  streets  till  she  struck  the  railway  at  the  point 
she  had  in  mind — a  level  crossing  just  out  of  the  sta- 
tion. The  points-man  had  already  closed  the  gates  for 
the  passage  of  the  express.  But  a  covered  flight  of  steps 
leading  to  a  subway  was  just  at  the  side,  and,  arrived 
at  the  bottom,  one  could  either  pass  along  the  subway 
or  ascend  another  flight  on  to  the  platform.  But,  as 
an  extra  precaution  against  observation  on  the  parts  of 
the  points-man,  May  preferred  to  wait  just  at  the  bottom 
of  the  steps.  There  she  could  hear  the  roaring  of  the 
train  in  ample  time  to  ascend  to  the  platform  at  the  exact 
moment. 

In  a  minute  or  so  she  heard  it  afar  off — miles,  per- 


378  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

haps — and  trembled  a  little  in  spite  of  herself.  But 
only  for  a  second.  For  she  felt  wonderfully  calm  again 
as  slowly  she  began  to  mount  the  steps,  staying  ulti- 
mately on  the  threshold  of  the  platform  ready  to  hurl 
herself  forward. 

But  suddenly  she  fancied  she  heard  a  footstep,  and, 
glancing  round  sharply,  she  beheld  a  gentleman  emerg- 
ing from  a  waiting-room  a  few  yards  off.  She  stood 
rigid,  her  heart  throbbing  convulsively,  her  bewildered, 
frightened  eyes  gazing  full  at  him,  though  she  saw 
nothing  save  a  burning,  palpitating  mist.  Yet  she  was 
aware  he  was  coming  straight  towards  her,  and,  as  her 
vision  cleared,  she  saw  he  was  smiling  at  her.  Then  he 
raised  his  hat  with  one  hand,  and  held  out  the  other  to 
her.  In  that  moment  she  recognized  him. 

"  You !  "  she  gasped. 

"  I  was  afraid  you  weren't  going  to  recognize  me," 
said  Preston  blandly. 

"  Oh !  "  She  drew  her  breath.  "  What  are  you  doing 
here?  " 

"  I  wanted  to  see  you ;  to  tell  you  that,  immediately 
I  had  let  you  go  last  night,  I  repented  of — well,  of  the 
way  our  conversation  had  ended.  May  I  hope  it  is  not 
too  late  for  me  to  go  back  upon  what  I  then  said  to 
you?" 

She  was  not  yet  mistress  enough  of  herself  to  reply 
to  him.  There  was  a  tense  silence. 

"  Although  a  few  hours  have  already  passed  since," 
he  continued  pleadingly,  "  I  must  really  claim  that  my 
repentance  was  almost  instantaneous.  We  both  travelled 
here  by  the  same  train,  in  fact.  I  lost  you  at  this  end, 
and  found  you  in  the  dark  by  accident  just  when  I  was 
beginning  to  suppose  you  must  have  gone  to  some  of 
your  friends.  Of  course  I  had  to  respect  your  slumbers." 

Ah!  She  remembered  she  had  vaguely  fancied  some 
shadowy  knight  was  standing  over  her  in  her  sleep. 

"  You  came  to  .watch  over  and  to  save  me !  "  she  cried. 


THE  HUSBAND  379 

He  bowed  his  head  anxiously. 

"  I  stayed  in  your  neighbourhood,  hovering  about  like 
a  ghost,  for  several  hours — you  were  sleeping  so  deeply 
I  hadn't  the  heart  to  wake  you.  I  dared  not,  in  fact. 
Later  on,  I  wandered  back  here  to  amuse  myself  with 
the  time-tables,  and  was  just  now  on  the  point  of  start- 
ing out  again,  somehow  expecting  to  find  you  still  in  the 
happy  land  of  dreams." 

The  girl  stood  in  troubled  emotion ;  she  tried  to  speak 
further,  but  the  words  stuck  in  her  throat. 

"  Will  you  not  let  me  put  the  remainder  of  my  life 
at  your  service  ?  "  he  asked. 

He  stood  before  her  with  expectant  face.  He  was 
handsome  and  stalwart. 

"  I  know  it  is  presumptuous  of  me,"  he  added ;  "  but 
perhaps  you  may  not  entirely  regret  it." 

The  roar  of  the  train  sounded  nearer,  mingling  con- 
fusedly with  the  turmoil  of  her  brain.  She  bowed  her 
head,  and  the  glint  of  the  morning  sunlight  seemed  to 
beckon  to  her  blithely.  At  least  he  would  love  her  faith- 
fully till  death! 

"  Yes,"  she  murmured.  "  If  you  think  I  am  worth  it !  " 

He  seized  both  her  hands  in  protest,  and,  with  a  great 
rocking  and  roaring,  the  express  came  thundering  along, 
swift  as  a  tempest. 


xviir 

rHE  interview  in  the  convent  parlour  had  occu- 
pied hardly  a  minute  or  two,  but  it  was  al- 
ready obvious  to  Hubert  that  there  was  noth- 
ing to  detain  him  further.  The  uncomfort- 
able silence  in  the  dim,  frosty  light  of  the  plain,  business- 
like apartment,  the  affable  smile  of  the  Mother  Superior, 
his  own  uneasy  cough — these  were  all  indications  that 
the  simple  procedure  for  installing  Gwenny  as  a  novice 
at  this  scholastic  house  in  the  far  East  End  of  London 
had  now  been  completed.  Hubert  was  impelled  to  rise 
to  bid  the  girl  good-bye.  Already  she  was  wearing  the 
little  black  lace  cap  of  her  novitiate  which  the  Mother 
Superior  had  just  handed  to  her,  and  she  came  forward 
to  lift  her  lips  to  his.  Her  face  was  infinitely  subdued, 
and  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes.  The  next  moment 
Hubert  was  trying  to  walk  firmly  through  a  long,  wind- 
ing corridor  and  across  the  flagstones  of  the  roomy  en- 
trance-hall. 

As  the  convent  door  closed  behind  him,  his  eyes 
flinched  before  the  strong  daylight.  He  stood  bewildered 
for  an  instant,  then,  collecting  himself,  he  glanced  about 
him  with  a  piqued  interest  in  this  quiet  old  side-street. 
Stretching  from  a  great  thoroughfare  (that  changed  its 
name  often  in  the  miles  of  its  course)  towards  the  swarm- 
ing region  of  Limehouse  and  the  Docks,  it  was  curiously 
heterogeneous  in  its  huddled  succession  of  buildings. 
Warehouses,  huge  and  strangely  silent,  with  cranes  in 
repose,  alternated  with  plain  brick  dwelling-houses  of 
the  eighteenth  century  and  earlier,  and  there  were  other 
structures  with  mysterious  barred  and  frosted  windows 
that  defied  the  prying  imagination. 


\ 


THE  HUSBAND  381 

Not  far  removed  from  here,  as  Hubert  knew,  were 
domestic  areas  of  comparative  affluence,  where  flourished 
the  comfortable  and  often  spacious  homes  of  manufac- 
turers, wharfingers,  merchants,  tradespeople,  and  high- 
placed  dock  officials.  The  convent,  an  old-world  pile 
of  simple  Gothic  aspect,  situate  at  so  excellent  a  point 
of  vantage,  could  count  among  its  pupils  the  daughters 
of  such  of  these  well-to-do  families  as  were  of  the 
Catholic  faith,  whilst  its  sisters  worked  quietly  in  the 
vast  fields  of  poverty  that  offered  themselves  on  every 
hand. 

But  Hubert  could  not  fix  his  mind  for  long  on  these 
streets,  however  fascinating  their  appeal.  Though  he 
had  been  all  along  at  peace  about  Gwenny's  chosen 
future,  the  excitement  of  the  actual  moment  of  parting 
had  proved  greater  than  he  had  anticipated.  As  he  had 
bowed  himself  smilingly  out  of  the  room  and  caught  a 
last  glimpse  of  her,  he  had  had  a  pang  of  terrible  regret 
(immediately  suppressed  as  selfish)  for  not  having 
snatched  at  the  chance  of  keeping  her  at  home  which 
she  had  offered  him  on  her  sister's  wedding-day.  "  Will 
you  not  let  me  stay  with  you,  uncle,  now  that  May  has 
gone  ? "  she  had  whispered,  as,  hand-in-hand,  they 
watched  the  bridal  pair  drive  out  of  sight.  He  had 
been  moved  almost  to  tears,  but  he  had  not  cared  to 
take  advantage  of  an  impulsive  moment  of  emotion,  and 
interfere  now  with  what  she  had  set  her  heart  on  so 
deeply — how  deeply  intuition  alone  enabled  him  to 
divine.  So  his  refusal  had  taken  the  form  of  persuasion, 
he  pointing  out  that,  according  to  the  way  they  had 
finally  planned  out  things,  she  could  scarcely  be  said  to 
be  leaving  them  at  all. 

And,  indeed,  he  was  fain  to  repeat  this  argument  to 
himself  to-day.  After  all,  the  parting  was  very  far  from 
being  so  absolute  as  it  might  well  have  been ;  for  had 
she  not,  with  excellent  sense,  allied  her  faith  with  the 
most  practical  issues  possible?  Moreover,  it  was  more 


382  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

than  likely  that,  in  a  few  months  time,  Constance  and 
he  would  be  able  to  come  into  close  touch  with  her 
activities — for  why  should  not  their  own  work  be  chosen 
in  the  very  district?  Heaven  knew  there  was  ample  room 
for  everybody!  And  until  that  time  (when  his  arrange- 
ments for  retiring  from  the  practice  of  his  profession 
should  have  been  completed)  Gwenny  would  be  accessible 
to  them  whenever  they  might  desire  to  see  her. 

Yet,  despite  all  these  considerations,  it  was  hard  to 
force  himself  away  from  here,  and  it  was  only  the 
thought  of  the  uselessness  of  lingering  that  finally  urged 
him  onward.  In  the  open  main  road  he  mounted  a 
passing  omnibus  that  was  going  citywards,  and  for  a 
time  found  distraction  in  the  interest  of  the  journey 
itself. 

He  knew  that,  when  the  poignant  emotion  of  the 
moment  should  have  passed  away,  he  would  be  as  con- 
tented in  mind  as  he  had  ever  looked  forward  to  being. 
Indeed,  it  was  curious  now  to  reflect  that,  at  the  very 
moment  his  unhappiness  was  at  its  greatest,  events  had 
ripened  ready  to  play  into  his  hands  with  incredible 
swiftness.  First  had  come  that  astonishing  revelation 
of  discord  between  the  three  beings  whom  he  had  imag- 
ined perfectly  united.  And,  almost  immediately  after, 
the  nightmare  in  which  he  had  been  living  had  suddenly 
vanished  of  itself. 


May's  flight  that  memorable  evening  three  months 
before  had  happily  caused  no  flutter  in  the  household; 
merely  because,  in  the  evening,  she  was  assumed  to  have 
retired  early,  and  in  the  morning,  just  as  Hubert  had 
finished  dressing  and  was  about  to  descend,  the  servant 
brought  him  a  telegram  in  which  May  announced  she 
was  staying  with  the  Williams's  for  a  day  or  two,  and 
they  were  very  glad  to  have  her.  This  was  the  first 
indication  of  her  absence  from  home.  Hubert,  indeed, 


THE  HUSBAND  383 

was  at  first  inclined  to  doubt  his  own  sanity,  then 
suspected  some  practical  joke;  but  investigation  with 
the  aid  of  the  hurriedly  summoned  Constance  placed  the 
genuineness  of  the  telegram  beyond  a  doubt.  Naturally 
they  were  both  perplexed,  though  Constance  could  throw 
no  light  at  all  on  this  apparently  meaningless  escapade. 
But  Hubert  instinctively  understood  that  May  was  en- 
acting some  secret  drama  of  her  own,  and  he  was  by 
no  means  content  to  wait  till  she  should  deign  to  explain 
herself  further.  He  indeed  meditated  following  her  to 
Lynford  without  any  delay,  and  investigating  the  whole 
mysterious  matter  himself.  But  the  appearance  of 
Preston  just  then  saved  him  all  further  anxiety. 

Preston  found  Hubert  alone,  for  Constance  had  gone 
back  to  complete  her  interrupted  toilette.  He  merely 
smiled  at  the  puzzled  look  of  inquiry  with  which  Hubert 
greeted  this  visit  of  his  at  so  unearthly  an  hour;  and 
the  smile  deepened  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  telegram 
and  its  envelope  still  lying  on  the  table. 

"  Congratulate  me,  Hubert,"  he  said,  as  they  shook 
hands.  "  I  am  engaged  to  be  married." 

In  the  half-hour  that  followed  Hubert  heard  much  to 
surprise  him.  Preston  had  decided  to  enlighten  him 
completely,  and,  for  the  first  time,  Hubert  was  in  pos- 
session of  the  history  of  May's  short-lived  engagement 
with  Arthur  Roburne.  In  the  girl's  natural  outpouring 
to  Preston  that  morning  she  had  concealed  nothing  from 
him.  His  was  the  first  sympathetic  ear  after  those  ter- 
rible days  of  suffering,  and  it  eased  her  heart  to  feel 
she  had  somebody  who  cared  as  deeply  as,  in  her  inmost 
soul,  she  knew  he  cared.  But  Preston,  in  thus  divulging, 
in  his  turn,  the  full  sequence  of  events,  did  not  consider 
he  was  violating  her  confidence;  he  had  a  duty  to  per- 
form to  Hubert,  who,  it  was  best,  should  know  all. 

When  Hubert  expressed  his  astonishment  that  Con- 
stance had  said  not  a  word  to  him  about  all  the  evil 
gossip  (at  which  he  himself  could  well  afford  to  smile), 


384  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

Preston  was  rightly  able  to  surmise  that  in  all  probability 
she  knew  absolutely  nothing  of  it. 

Very  soon  Preston  had  to  hurry  away — he  had  prom- 
ised, amongst  other  things,  to  send  May  a  wire  of  re- 
assurance, for  she  was  fearful  as  to  the  consternation 
her  disappearance  must  have  caused  at  home.  But  he 
had  hardly  departed  ere  Constance  came  hurrying  in 
with  pale  face — she  had  evidently  been  brooding  over 
the  "  escapade  "  and  seeing  it  in  new  lights. 

Hubert  promptly  metamorphosed  her  emotions.  Her 
amazement  and  alarm  as  the  story  was  unfolded  were  in 
the  end  quite  obscured  by  the  intensity  of  her  satisfac- 
tion at  having  so  difficult  a  child  at  length  definitely 
settled  in  life.  She,  indeed,  had  to  pay  the  penalty  of 
her  former  reservations  with  Hubert  (now  ridiculous 
before  his  fuller  knowledge)  by  having  to  maintain  the 
pretence  she  was  hearing  for  the  first  time  that  any 
affection  had  existed  between  May  and  the  patrician 
young  diplomatist;  but  the  new  engagement  was  suffi- 
cient consolation  for  this  forced  hypocrisy.  At  Hubert's 
hinting  that  the  difference  in  the  ages  of  the  couple  was 
rather  conspicuous,  she  dissented  from  such  a  view  most 
emphatically.  Preston  was  barely  forty-five,  and  in  the 
modern  world  a  man  was  still  young  at  that  age.  Be- 
sides, even  a  really  great  difference  in  the  ages  of  people 
marrying  passed  almost  without  notice  now-a-days.  Her 
tremulous  eager  delight  made  him  smile,  though  he  did 
not  feel  entirely  convinced. 

The  news  that  a  marriage  had  been  arranged  between 
May  Ruthven  and  Robert  Preston  had  little  or  no  effect 
in  re-raising  the  family  in  social  estimation.  Preston 
was  a  crank,  and  this  was  of  a  piece  with  all  his  life. 
As  for  the  girl,  it  was  only  to  be  expected  that  she  would 
seize  the  first  opportunity  of  selling  herself  for  a  posi- 
tion. 

In  spite  of  all  of  which  the  wedding  took  place  quietly 
about  a  month  later.  Hubert  himself  had  at  first  ac- 


THE  HUSBAND  385 

cepted  the  engagement  with  neither  ecstasy  nor  mis- 
giving; yet  glad  that  Preston  at  least  was  happy  about 
it,  and  that  May,  so  far  as  he  could  judge,  was  certainly 
contented.  But  gradually  he  had  come  to  have  a  more 
harmonious  feeling  about  it;  on  the  wedding  morn  his 
enthusiasm  had  matched  Constance's ! 

The  pair  had  gone  off  to  spend  their  honeymoon  in 
Flintshire,  both  being  desirous  of  settling  near  Preston's 
favourite  sister,  Marian ;  she,  indeed,  having  lent  them 
her  house  for  a  time,  so  that  they  might  search  for  a 
suitable  one  for  themselves  in  the  same  county,  and 
furnish  it  at  their  leisure.  And  as,  during  the  two 
months  that  had  since  elapsed,  the  Ruthvens  had  been 
receiving  from  the  couple  the  most  lyrically-worded  re- 
ports as  to  their  extraordinary  state  of  happiness,  Hu- 
bert had  been  able  to  maintain  his  enthusiasm  at  its  full 
pitch.  After  all,  Preston  fairly  deserved  his  bride,  and 
Hubert  felt  he  could  never  estimate  his  debt  to  his 
friend's  insight  and  his  promptness  in  acting  on  it. 


And  now  at  last  the  children's  lives  had  ceased  to  be 
bound  up  with  his  own !  It  was  curious  for  him  to  look 
back  to  the  time  when  his  desire  to  make  their  destinies 
his  own  special  concern  had  been  frustrated  by  the 
suspicious  hostility  of  the  poor  woman  who  had  come  to 
so  pitiful  an  end.  "  Poor  Agnes,  poor  Agnes,"  he  could 
not  help  repeating  to  himself  softly,  and  he  had  a  solemn 
sense  of  the  fleeting  years  of  existence.  How  had  his 
own  fled  like  a  dream !  Well,  well,  the  children  had  been 
entrusted  to  him,  and  the  time  had  had  to  come  sooner 
or  later  for  their  destinies  to  be  taken  out  of  his  hands. 
He  had  no  doubt  made  mistakes,  but  he  had  at  least 
done  his  best,  according  to  his  lights.  It  remained  for 
him  now  to  gather  the  ends  of  his  life  together,  and, 
with  his  true  help-meet  to  sustain  him  in  the  tasks  and 
difficulties  that  the  days  might  bring,  to  devote  himself 


386  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

to  following  the  life  of  service  of  which  he  had  dreamed 
as  a  young  man. 

*  »  *  *  * 

He  smiled  again  as  the  figure  of  Lady  Wycliffe  swam 
up  suddenly  in  his  thought.  That  charming  and  senti- 
mental friend  of  his  had  again  vanished  from  London. 
Hubert  had  called  at  Arlington-street  specially  to  in- 
form her  of  May's  engagement,  only  to  learn  that  she 
had  suddenly  gone  off  to  the  North  on  the  very  next 
day  after  Constance's  party. 

That  she  should  depart  in  that  way  without  the  least 
message  for  him  was  not  in  itself  a  matter  of  surprise. 
He  had  often  in  former  years  had  the  kind  of  experience 
with  her;  it  had  been  her  habit  to  disappear  just  at  some 
interesting  moment  in  their  intimacy,  and  the  discussion 
of  subjects  nearest  to  his  heart  would  thus  be  cut  short 
abruptly.  But  when  he  recalled  the  share  she  had  had 
in  promoting  the  affair  between  May  and  Arthur  Ro- 
burne,  her  departure  on  this  occasion  seemed  rather  an 
extreme  example  of  that  characteristic  of  hers  of  sud- 
denly dropping  without  warning  what  apparently  was 
interesting  her  most  at  the  moment.  But  he  had  always 
tolerantly  accepted  her  weaknesses,  such  as  they  were, 
and  he  was  careful  to  bear  in  mind  the  exacting  calls  of 
her  many  friendships  and  charities.  He  did  not  regard 
her  gyrations  very  seriously,  and,  in  a  way,  they  were 
not  unamusing  to  him.  So  he  supposed  he  must  forgive 
her  as  usual — if  only  out  of  respect  for  her  undoubted 
sincerity  and  goodness,  and  out  of  recognition  of  the 
benevolent  unconsciousness  with  which  she  sinned.  It 
was  certainly  the  easier  in  the  present  instance  to  take 
such  an  indulgent  view  of  her  behaviour,  inasmuch  as  it 
was  merely  a  source  of  gratification  to  him  that  the 
marriage  she  had  desired  to  promote  had  been  foiled  by 
the  natural  course  of  events. 

However,  he  had  contented  himself  with  writing  the 


THE  HUSBAND  387 

news  to  her,  marking  the  letter  for  redirection,  but  that 
did  not  elicit  any  immediate  reply.  It  was  not  till  the 
wedding  morn,  that  she  gave  any  sign  of  recollecting 
their  existence,  for  a  small  parcel,  addressed  to  May, 
arrived  by  the  first  post,  and  proved  to  contain  a  splen- 
did diamond  necklace.  Enclosed  with  this  impulsively 
generous  gift  was  Lady  Wycliffe's  card  with  "  con- 
gratulations and  affectionate  good  wishes  "  scribbled  in 
her  own  handwriting. 

But  May's  acknowledgment  did  not  result  in  any 
further  communication  from  her,  and  it  had  since  re- 
mained a  mystery  to  all  of  them  how  she  had  learnt  the 
date  fixed  for  the  marriage,  that  having  been  carefully 
preserved  as  the  secret  of  the  few  people  concerned.  For 
the  moment  at  least,  her  ladyship  had  passed  entirely  out 
of  Hubert's  personal  horizon ;  but  he  had  no  doubt  that 
she  would  one  day  come  sailing  into  it  again  as  enthus- 
iastically smiling  as  ever. 


The  train  was  speeding  along  the  old  familiar  route  to 
Lynford,  and  Hubert's  thoughts  turned  homeward  again. 
He  was  glad  his  agent  had  failed  to  find  a  tenant  for 
the  old  house  these  last  two  years.  Now  he  should  never 
think  of  parting  with  it.  On  giving  up  the  Portland 
Place  establishment,  they  had  disposed  of  most  of  the 
furniture,  keeping  only  sufficient  to  refurnish  the  old 
home  as  cosily  as  before.  He  loved  the  place  for  its 
associations;  looking  back,  he  felt  that  the  years  spent 
there  were  the  only  ones  that  represented  any  realization 
of  his  conscious  desires  and  striving,  and  therefore  the 
only  happiness  he  had  known.  The  rest  had  gone  their 
course,  and  that  part  of  his  life  which  was  covered  by 
them  had  merely  happened — had,  so  to  speak,  been  more 
or  less  forced  upon  him,  though,  of  course,  he  had  had  to 
do  his  best  with  the  duties  thereby  involved.  He  had 
therefore  entered  with  zest  on  the  work  of  preparing  the 


388  ONE'S  WOMENKIND 

house  again  for  their  occupation.  Not  only  would  he 
think  of  it  as  their  home  for  the  rest  of  their  days  (even 
though  their  contemplated  activities  should  render  neces- 
sary long  periods  of  absence  from  it),  but  he  counted 
on  giving  many  a  happy  day  in  the  garden  to  wan  and 
sick  children. 

At  Lynford,  Armstrong  was  waiting  for  him  with  the 
trap  as  in  the  old  days,  and  they  cut  through  the  ripe 
autumn  country  past  the  green  meadows  and  the  rolling 
hillsides.  As  they  entered  the  garden-drive  at  last,  his 
eye  lingered  with  pleasure  on  the  ivy-covered  walls,  the 
freshly  painted  verandah,  and  the  flower-laden  window- 
sills,  and  he  had  a  pleasurable  picture  of  the  quaint, 
snug  interior.  He  could  not  help  chuckling  at  the  re- 
membrance of  the  tough  job  Armstrong  had  had  in  re- 
claiming the  garden,  now  once  more  that  faithful  serv- 
ant's pride  and  delight. 

He  descended  at  the  pretty  porch,  and  passed  through 
the  hall,  standing  open  from  end  to  end,  to  the  verandah 
at  the  back ;  thence  he  stepped  down  on  to  the  lawn  that 
was  green  and  smiling  as  ever.  A  sweet  smell  was  wafted 
to  his  nostrils  from  his  own  pine-groves.  Constance, 
who  was  hardly  expecting  him  yet  (  for  she,  too,  had  sup- 
posed his  visit  to  the  convent  would  be  rather  more  pro- 
longed), was  busy  over  a  flower-bed  some  little  distance 
off.  On  catching  sight  of  Hubert  she  came  to  meet 
him. 

"  You  left  her  there?  "  she  asked,  in  vague  all-com- 
prehensive inquiry. 

He  nodded.  "  And  now  we  are  alone  together,  you 
and  I,  sweetheart !  " 

She  looked  at  him  wistfully.  "  Yes,  together,"  she 
murmured. 

"  The  children  have  left  us  for  always.  We  are 
childless  now." 


THE  HUSBAND  389 

"  No,  no,  Hubert,  not  childless,"  she  answered,  her 
eyes  gleaming  strangely. 

His  heart  leapt.  His  eyes  rested  on  her  inquiringly. 
But  even  before  she  spoke  again,  he  had  divined  her 
meaning. 


THE   END 


FOURTH  THOUSAND 

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Life's  most  strenuous  activity 
and  the  eternal  vigilance  with 
which  men  and  women  strive 
to  build  their  homes  are  among 
the  suggestive  ''thoughts  "  in 
the  new  volume. 
x 

v  A  copy  of  Home  Thoughts 
Second  Series ,  will  be  sent 
to  any  address  postpaid  on 
receipt  of  $1.30.  The  Set 
(First  and  Second  Series) 
in  a  boxy  $2.60  postpaid. 


THIRD  THOUSAND 


By    EDWIN    CARLILE    LITSEY 

izmo.       Gilt  top.      1 70  pages.       Price,  $  i .  20  net.       Postage,  90. 


"  A  charming  love  story  straight  from 
the  heart." 

Savannah  Neios. 


"  As  sweet  and  tender  a  story  as  has 

come  our  way  for  a  long  time." 

Charleston  News  and  Courier. 


Not  since  Allen's  Kentucky  Cardinal 

have  I  read  a  more  beautiful  tale." 

T.  C.  W.  in  Impressions. 


The  charm  of  the  tale  is  its  fresh 
feeling  for  nature,  its  atmospheric 
quality,  and  that  touch  of  ideal- 
ism which  gives  life  unfailing 
romance.  * ' 

Hamilton  W.  Mabie  in 

The  Outlook. 


"  To  say  that  'The  author's  descriptive 
powers  are  of  the  best'  does  scant 
justice  to  the  pure  lights,  the 
dreamy  shades  Mr.  Litsey  imparts 
to  his  Kentucky  scenery." 
N.  Y.  Times,  Saturday  Re-view. 


,A  most  charming  story 
of  love  and  nature. 
The  author,  a  Kentuck- 
ian,  has  caught  the  true 
spirit  of  nature,  and 
weaves  into  his  beautiful 
descriptions  a  love  story 
so  pure,  so  beautiful,  so  in- 
tense, that  one  instinctive- 
ly says :  "  This  is  a  man's 
life  story."  The  scene  is 
laid  in  the  Blue  Grass 
region,  while  the  volume 
is  the  perfection  of  the 
printer's  art. 


v  A  copy  of  The  Love 
Story  of  Abner  Stone  will 
be  sent  postpaid  to  any  ad- 
dress on  receipt  of  $1.29. 


A     000129506     2 


